The Blood Line
by Bo Georgeson
Summary: A story about a long lasting feud between two families that end up in a grisly murder… and there is more to come. In other words… just an ordinary week in Midsomer for DCI Barnaby and DS Scott... until Joyce's life suddenly is at stake...
1. Part 1  Friday

A story loosely based on the synopsis of the Midsomer Murders episode 'The Blood Point' written by Michael Russell. This episode was never broadcast, due to the plot bearing similarities to a real-life event. You can find the synopsis if you google for "Midsomer Murders" and "The Blood Point".

The characters DCI Tom Barnaby, Joyce Barnaby, Dr George Bullard, Desk Sergeant Angel, DS Dan Scott, Dr Dan Peterson and PC Ben Jones are all created by Caroline Graham or people associated with the production company of the TV series – Bentley Productions.  
Jane, Arthur, James and Alexander Melts together with Rihanna, Gaynor and Caitlin Ashmoore, Howard (Ashmoore) Leecham, Dave and Margarita Errol and finally Meg Moon were all created by Michael Russell for this particular episode.

I offer my humble thanks and excuses for using them for my own purposes and sincerely hope that I've delivered them relatively undamaged back to their rightful owners.

All other characters in this story are entirely created by my own imagination with a little help from the members of the greatest rock band ever – Black Sabbath – in giving them their names.

Last, but not least, I would like to thank my fellow Midsomer Murders fan "John Douglas". He kindly offered to work as my editor and has been an invaluable help and inspiration in creating this story.  
Without him none of this would have been possible.  
Thank you so much, John, I owe you one!

You can find John's fantastic Midsomer Murders short stories if you search on this site for "John Douglas" or "Midsomer Murders".

If you haven't read them, do so know! Your Midsomer life won't be complete if you leave these three gems unread.

This is a story that takes place over a week. I will publish the chapters from every day in the story on the corresponding day of the week starting now.

I hope you will have an enjoyable read!

**The Blood ****Line**

**(an ordinary week in Midsomer)**

**Prologue**

The flash from the cigarette lighter lit up the woman's face in the dense darkness. She took a long pleasurable draw on the smoke and held the fumes down her lungs before letting them out with a delightful sigh. There were sounds of footsteps.  
The woman tensed her hearing and listened carefully… and so did a dark figure, hiding behind some bushes, but within hearing distance.  
Through the darkness came another woman. She was a big woman, made even bigger by wearing a mackintosh too large for her. They both looked like they were in their 60's.

'I think you've gained even more weight', said the first woman with a rude smile.

'And I see you're still working on killing yourself', the other woman replied calmly, 'please, be my guest. I do hope you succeed.'

'Have you got it with you?' asked the smoking woman.

'Of course I have. Why else would I be here?'

The figure waiting in the darkness stiffened and carefully let its hand move away some branches to get a better look. What were those two old bitches up to?

The big woman talked again: 'Are you quite sure that your copy is destroyed? We do have to be certain!'

'Yes I am sure. I've searched everywhere and it is nowhere to be found. It must have been consumed by the fire we had in the library back in the 1920's. A lot of family documents literally went up in smoke back then.'  
After a quick draft on her cigarette, she continued: 'So, I am as sure as it's possible to be. Shall we get it over with, so we can go home? The less time I have to spend with you, the happier I am.'

'The feeling's mutual, dear.' If one could pronounce the word "dear" as an insult, this was it. The bigger woman took a document out of her coat and held it between her fingers towards the other woman.

The cigarette lighter came out of her pocket again. She lit the document and it burst into flames. When the flames got close enough to her fingers, it was dropped on the ground, where it continued burning until nothing was left but ashes…

The figure in the dark clenched its fists till the knuckles were white. A hissing 'Damn you and your fancy families' came out through close-bitten teeth.

Without uttering another word to each other, the two women walked away in opposite directions. They both got into their cars and drove slowly away.

When sure it was safe, the figure drew a hood over its head and left the bushes. But there was nothing to be found on the ground. The document was destroyed and existed no more.

A tear made its way down the cheek of the solitary figure. But tears wouldn't help now. This was only the beginning…

**Friday**

**Chapter One**

Friday! Before the door had closed behind him, Dan Scott had hit the sofa. Of course this wasn't that hard in his tiny accommodation. A rented room, above one of the Causton pubs, with a tiny kitchenette and a bathroom so small you could do your business while taking a shower and brushing your teeth at the same time.

He was knackered. Two weeks on his own in charge of CID had been quite enough. Even though no incidents of great importance had occurred, the paper work alone was enough to "kill" you. The boss had been away, treating his wife with a trip to the continent. Hopefully he'd had a good time and would come back in a great mood with a smile on his face.

There hadn't been much smiling before he left. They'd been into a really tricky and demanding case, with a mentally disabled murderer manipulated and controlled by a really creepy kiddo!

The case seemed to have got to Barnaby and it was blissful that he had left the CID, if only for two weeks.

Scott zapped through the TV channels without finding anything to catch his attention. No football, no rugby, no reprise of Baywatch where he at least could rest his sore eyes on the beach running and boob bouncing swimsuit models. He paused for a short while on an old episode of Inspector Morse. Oh my god, how little these TV writers knew about real police work. Farting up and down corridors of Oxford Uni, talking to dons, as if that had anything to do with the real world? He gave a cackle of laughter as he rose from the sofa and went out to his tiny kitchenette to get a can of beer from the fridge.

He plunged back into the sofa, opened the can and took a large delightful draught. Aaah, there was nothing like a cold beer to get a tired man's spirits up again!

He needed it, because this weekend was full of plans. Good plans! He was going to take one of the secretaries of a local law firm out to dinner tomorrow. Shannon, an Irish name, but she spoke the local tongue. Well, he'd find out more about that tomorrow. She was a real looker with long, dark hair, slim body and a tight little butt under that strict looking skirt of hers. She was a nice dresser as well. He was really looking forward to it.

The DCI had come home during the day and was due to be in charge tomorrow. Dan would have the weekend off!

The DCI, well he was a law unto himself, wasn't he? They hadn't started off very well, when Dan landed in Midsomer about a year ago. Was it already a year ago? Dan had been displeased with being transferred to the sticks and hadn't been clever enough to keep quiet about it. It seemed Barnaby had been offended on behalf of the entire county of Midsomer. Countless times Dan had cursed his big mouth, because it had been a real pain to work with Barnaby the first few months.

Now, a year later, they had slowly begun to come to terms with each other. It seemed Barnaby had finally realised that "the city boy" had some experiences and qualities that could be useful, even in Midsomer. Scott, on the other hand, had developed a growing respect for what he had at first thought was a flatfooted country copper. Barnaby seemed timid enough, polite to the point where Scott was ready to burst, but under that pleasant surface ticked a sharp intellect. An intellect, combined with gentle manners, which more than once had got suspects and witnesses to say a lot more than they had intended to. And there had been no lack of action! During one year in Midsomer he had been involved in more murder cases than you would expect from a countryside constabulary.

It was quite a while now since Dan had made his last rejected application for a transfer to a bigger city. Midsomer and Causton wasn't that bad. And then there was Shannon! Pleased with himself, Dan slowly dozed off.

**_To be continued tomorrow…_**


	2. Part 2  Saturday

**Saturday**

**Chapter Two**

Tom Barnaby was still in bed on this beautiful Saturday morning. He was on call for the weekend, but there was no need for him to be down at the station. The desk sergeant would call for him if he was needed.

He and Joyce had had a good night's sleep and a sleep-in, tired after travelling the previous day, when they had arrived home by plane from Prague. During their two-week trip they had stayed a few nights each in Paris, Milan, Stuttgart and finally Prague. It had been a truly relaxing trip for Tom who had really felt the urge to get the CID out of his system for a while. That last case had really been eating him. They had solved the case, but there was no feeling of triumph, just tragedy.

Now, two weeks and many a good beer down his throat later, he was fit for duty again. The Germans and Czechs really knew their "pilzner". And the Czechs were also top of the charts when it came to dark beers. This had come as a surprise to Barnaby, but he didn't mind. Not at all!

He heard Joyce rattling about down in the kitchen, wondering what she was preparing for breakfast. Breakfast was Barnaby's favourite meal of the day, for the simple reason that Joyce really couldn't go wrong with it.

The holiday had been expensive, but just the fact of being spared Joyce's cooking for two full weeks made it worth every penny. And what good meals they had had! Whereas the Germans and Czechs won the beer competition, the French and Italians were superior in dining and wining.

Tom began to think "shop" again. He really hoped for a quiet weekend to warm up with. Scott had been alone in charge for two weeks and Barnaby really didn't want to have to drag him out of his well-earned rest. But of course, if a major crime occurred, he'd have to.

He pondered about Scott for a while. It wasn't until the very last period of Troy's years as his sergeant that he would have let him run the CID on his own for a few days, let alone two full weeks. It was different with Scott.  
He didn't warm as much to Scott as a person, but the lad certainly had an inner authority you had to admire. There was no doubting that Scott would be "the guv'nor" when Barnaby left for his trip. Not from Barnaby, not from Scott and not from the rest of the staff either. The lad was a naturally accepted leader and he knew that himself. This had caused him to challenge Barnaby a few times during the year they had worked together. At first Barnaby, irritated by Scott's apparent reluctance to accept his transfer to Midsomer, had "punched" him hard a few times and showed him who was in charge, but later he had had to admit that when Scott decided to fight for something it was often for well-founded reasons and based on accurate opinions. He had to give him that.

One of Scott's other talents, which could be quite useful as well as irritating, was his Jekyll and Hyde character. When it came to suspects Scott could be brusque, to the point of aggressive, which might be handy when used towards certain people, but it could also devastate built-up trust. That was the Hyde-side.

But put a woman in front of Scott and he became Jekyll. They melted like butter in the sun. He was good-looking and really knew his way with the ladies. Joyce was obvious proof of that. She smiled from ear to ear as soon as Dan was within sight. Barnaby chuckled. This was of course also good at times, but Barnaby didn't feel 100% certain that Dan would have crystal clear vision if one of the suspects was an attractive girl in her 20's or 30's.

At the same time as he heard Joyce's voice shouting from downstairs: 'Tom! Breakfast!' his mobile rang.

'Barnaby.'

'Excuse me, sir', the desk sergeant's voice came through, 'but we've had a call about an attempted burglary.'

Barnaby sighed. 'Right, Angel, but what's that got to do with me? That's something that uniform can handle, isn't it?'

'Of course, sir, but it's just that the lady who called in was very insistent that she would only talk to the highest officer in charge and that happens to be you, sir. She wouldn't even make a formal complaint until she'd spoken to you.'

'Does this lady have a name?' Barnaby asked.

'Yes, sir, here we have it. It was a Mrs Jane Melts, living just outside Badger's Drift.'

Melts? The name rang a bell somewhere in the back of Barnaby's head. Ah, there it was! The Melts family lived on quite a large estate somewhat outside of Badger's Drift. He'd met them at some social occasion. If his memory was correct Jane Melts was a rather unpleasant woman with an upper class attitude towards everyone, until you had been introduced with a title fancy enough. Apparently Detective Chief Inspector did the trick, because he could remember her face turning from smirking to smiling in the blink of an eye when they were introduced.

Barnaby shivered. He couldn't bear the sort of people who judged others only by appearance, title or wallet.  
Tom had too much sympathy for his colleagues to send out a young PC to meet this old harpy.

'Give me her details and I'll give her a call later,' Barnaby said.

While he was scribbling down the contact details, Joyce's voice was heard again: 'Tom? Are you coming or not? Breakfast will soon be cold!'

Barnaby hung up and replied: 'Coming, dear. Just had a call from the station, that's all.'

Down at the kitchen table Barnaby dug in to bacon, sausages and fried eggs, together with a large cup of coffee. Mentally Joyce shook her head, but she had long since given up trying to get her husband into a more healthy line of food. He loved his fry-ups! On the other hand since the doctor's warning, a fair twenty years ago, nothing had really changed. Tom had a little belly, but it didn't increase over the years and his values said he was fit as a fiddle.

'Something serious?' Joyce asked about the phone call.

'No, probably nothing. An attempted burglary, but she wouldn't even make a formal complaint unless she could speak to me. Mrs Jane Melts, if you remember?'

'Yes, I do remember.' Joyce didn't say anything else but the look on her face revealed that she shared her husband's opinion of the woman.

**Chapter Three**

'Dave, please get a grip of yourself!' Margarita Errol's high-pitched voice echoed over the empty church hall.

'But Margarita, dear, I was only praying,' Dave Errol excused himself. 'No harm in that, is there?'

For some reason, Dave thought, I'm always excusing myself to this woman. "This woman", forgive me Father, she's my beloved wife and I know that, but sometimes it is just so hard to remember.

'Not much use in it either,' Margarita snapped. 'Praying isn't going to put a new roof on the church, which you know as well as I do. Do something useful instead! Go to Lions and Rotary meetings and put some pressure on them. Go and see the Melts and the Ashmoores, everyone knows they're not short of money!'

'Anyway', she continued, 'you've got to be out of here, because soon the ladies' club will gather for a meeting and I'm sure we'll come up with more constructive ways of raising money than praying!'

Dave Errol walked out of the church in silence. He glanced at his wife, as she turned her back on him, and thought for the umpteenth time about what he once had seen in her. He knew the answer. It had been the weak flesh speaking.

Margarita was a beautiful woman. Even now in her late 40's men turned around and gave her a second glance in the street. She was robust, but in a feminine way, which gave her delightful curves. She had long blond hair and she knew how to act to turn a man's head. That skill was what she had used to catch him. Practising as a volunteer Sunday school teacher, she had made sure they had as much contact as possible. The young shy Dave had been an easy target and before he knew it he was head over heels in love with her and proposed. With her beautiful blue eyes she had looked at him and answered: 'I'm honoured, vicar! May I call you Dave? And of course I will marry you!'

The same blue eyes that just a few days after the wedding had looked at him again, but cold this time, when she frankly declared that she had married him because she wanted a solid and dependable arrangement. A marriage for practical reasons, love was over-rated and she was nobody's servant. All caused by his question: 'What's for dinner, love?'

That was some 25 years ago and since then Dave Errol had cooked a lot of dinners. Not that he minded, he was all for gender equality and they had worked out a way of sharing the daily chores. No, what he missed was the tenderness and the affection. Their love life was completely on Margarita's terms. It did not happen very often and when it did it was because there had been weeks since the last time and now she had built up a tension inside her. There was no tenderness to it either. He sometimes felt like a breeding stallion led in to do his job. He intended many times to refuse, but once there, when she lay before him as God created her, she was too beautiful for him to resist.

With a love life like this there were of course no children, which gave Dave the hardest heartache of all. He loved children and would have wanted several, but now, at just over 50, he realised there weren't going to be any. He even suspected that Margarita had secretly protected herself during her fertile years, but he never managed to prove it.

He sighed as he left.

* * *

'Charwood Hall.' The voice down the phone sounded indifferent.

'Hello, this is DCI Barnaby, Causton CID. I'd like a word with Mrs Jane Melts, please!'

'Hang on a minute.'

Barnaby heard the receiver being put down and footsteps echoing.

'Chief Inspector Barnaby, how good of you to call. When can you come to see me?'

'Well Mrs Melts, I hoped that we perhaps could discuss this now?'

'Certainly not. This is not a matter I want handled over the phone. Would one o'clock suit you?'

'Well, I have some other commitments,' Barnaby tried to object, 'so perhaps…'

'Splendid, one o'clock it is.' Mrs Melts hung up.

Barnaby looked at the silent receiver in his hand and shook his head. What a ghastly woman!

'Joyce, it seems I'll have to go out for an hour or two, round about lunch-time,' Barnaby called into the kitchen.

'Where to?'

'Just outside Badger's Drift.'

'Well, I have a committee meeting at St. Michael's in Badger's Drift at one o'clock we could go together and save the petrol. You do remember, don't you, Tom?'

'No, no I don't, but you're welcome to join me. Off at twelve thirty?'

* * *

The mobile phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out to see who was calling. The display said Caitlin. He rushed up the stairs to his room and closed the door and answered, breathing heavily: 'What's up? You know I've told you to only use text when I'm at home, right?'

'Alex, it's important you listen to me now, OK?' Caitlin's voice was firm and demanding attention. 'Have you spoken to your mother yet?'

'No, no I just got up and went down for a late breakfast. I had a few pints in Causton last night to sleep off. What about my mother?'

'Alex,' Caitlin emphasised every single word, 'it is important you trust me on this one. OK? Your mother will accuse me of trying to break into your house.'

'What?' Alexander's voice rose with surprise and suspicion. 'What are you saying? Why would she say something like that?'

'Because it might have looked that way. But that wasn't the case. You'll have to be with me now and trust me. You do trust me, don't you?'

'Of course I trust you, but what is it you're saying? Did you try to break into our house? I don't understand!'

'Please Alex,' Caitlin's voice softened, 'I missed you so much. I made a foolish attempt to get into your house in the early hours this morning, to sneak into your bed, have a nice half hour or so and then sneak back out. But your mother caught me and I think she'll call the police. If she hasn't already!'

'You must tell her,' Caitlin continued, 'and the police as well, for that matter, that we had set up a meeting where you were supposed to give me some documents about the beaver project. And that you overslept our meeting. That's why I was trying to find an open door to get into the house. Can you do that?'

'Darling Caitlin,' Alex almost giggled, 'were you so keen to see me that you did this stupid thing? It was cute, but' - his voice turned playfully strict – 'it was not a good thing to do, Caitlin! And do you really think they'll believe a story about the beaver project?'

'It's the best I can come up with, OK? If we both stick to it, they'll have to believe us!'

'Right, honey, just calm down now!' Alex said soothingly. 'I'll tell them exactly that story! What time were you here?'

'Six o'clock.'

'Jeez, mother will have a hard time swallowing that I had set up a meeting at six o'clock in the morning, but we'll give it a go! Bye now, babe, see you tonight at the usual place.'

'Yeah, I'm looking forward to it already. Bye!' Caitlin finished off the call.

**Chapter Four**

At a quarter to one Tom dropped Joyce off at St. Michael's and steered his Volvo westbound out of Badger's Drift. He enjoyed the drive through the green landscape and the warm sunshine. He didn't look forward to reaching his destination, though.

He drove three miles through farmland before reaching the first cottages of the small hamlet of Bendale. These small cottages would once have formed part of one of the two large estates that had founded the hamlet, Charwood Hall and Ashmoore House.

He passed the sign indicating a right turn to Ashmoore House and continued ahead. Soon he reached the long curving road leading up to Charwood Hall. It was an impressive building up on the height, overlooking the fields and cottages below.

Barnaby parked his car, walked up to the main door and knocked. A housemaid came to open. He could not believe his eyes. In front of him stood a very attractive young woman in a French fashioned maid's outfit. You could never fathom what lengths the upper classes would go to in the deviant games they played to assert their superiority over others. Barnaby swallowed both once and twice before he said: 'DCI Barnaby, I have an appointment with Mrs Melts.'

'Yes,' the young woman answered, 'she's waiting for you. Follow me.'

Barnaby followed the maid, a few steps behind, through the large hall. He couldn't resist looking at her legs in the black nylons. Lucky that Scott wasn't there! Barnaby had no doubt that Dan's tongue would have made slippery tracks all over the floor.

The maid led him into a large sitting room and asked him to wait.

'Ah, Chief Inspector Barnaby! How good of you to come!' The impressive figure of Jane Melts entered the room. She looked, as always, immaculate. Her grey hair was well coiffed and her clothes oozed expensive boutiques. 'Do sit down.'

As if I had any choice, Barnaby thought.

'Mrs Melts,' he said as he sat down on a beautiful antique and extremely uncomfortable chair. 'Now, what can I do for you?'

'Ah,' Jane Melts gave a dramatic gasp, 'it's a terrible business, terrible!'

'Well, perhaps you could just tell me about it and then we'll decide just how terrible it is,' slipped out of Barnaby's mouth before he had a chance to stop it.

Jane Melts gave him a quick reproving glance before she continued: 'Yes of course, of course. Well, you see, this morning I found Caitlin Ashmoore trying to break into this very house!'

'So you caught her in the act?'

'I most certainly did, luckily, I'd say. I'm an early bird you see, Chief Inspector, so I was on my way from the kitchen, with my coffee, through the library to the terrace. As I always do on warm summer mornings. And there she was! Trying to get in through the glass door. Who knows what she might have been up to if she had got in?'

This woman talks on inhalation as well as exhalation, Barnaby thought before he broke in: 'Excuse me, but do you already know this Caitlin Ashmoore?'

'I know of her', Jane Melts said primly, 'she's an Ashmoore, isn't she? Actually married into the family, but I wouldn't say that makes much difference!'

It was apparent that Jane Melts did not harbour any warm or tender feelings towards the Ashmoore family.

'Mother, I think it's only fair to say that you do know her.' A male voice came from behind.

Barnaby turned his head round to see a rather handsome young man, somewhere in his early 30's, who had just entered the room.

'And you are…?' Barnaby asked.

'Alexander Melts,' the young man answered, 'the younger of two sons of the house. I'm glad to meet you, Chief Inspector!'

'I'm glad to meet you too, Mr Melts! And you were saying..?' Barnaby continued.

'He was going to say that I know Caitlin Ashmoore, which isn't quite true,' answered Jane Melts for her son, and then, after a pause, 'She was a school friend of Alexander's, but that's such a long time ago I didn't consider it worth mentioning.'

'She was Caitlin Durham in those days,' said Alexander, 'and she was actually my first girlfriend, so she spent quite a lot of time here, but of course when she married Rick Ashmoore she became "persona non grata" in this house… Now, what's this all about? And why are you here, Mr Barnaby?' he continued.

'Your mother claims she found Caitlin Ashmoore trying to break into the house.'

'Claims?' Jane Melts stressed. 'I caught her, there are no two ways about it, and I am not used to having my word questioned, Chief Inspector!' The look she gave Barnaby would have made hell freeze over.

Alexander took no notice and instead asked: 'Was it this morning? Because if it was, I think I can offer an explanation for this misunderstanding.'

Both Barnaby and Jane Melts looked at Alexander with surprise.

'You see, I had asked Caitlin to come round and pick up some paperwork for the beaver project. We're both on the board. And I'm afraid I seriously overslept. My apologies!'

'At 6am?' Jane Melts looked anything but convinced by this explanation.

'Well, yes,' Alexander looked rather uncomfortable, 'it was the only time we could find. Caitlin was going away for the day and I wouldn't be home this evening, so…'

Barnaby saw how embarrassed Alexander was and considered what he had just heard to be a lie, or at least not the whole truth, but, in the absence of crime, it wasn't up to him to dig into family secrets.

'Well, that's settled then,' he said, relieved to be leaving as soon as possible.

'Could I have a word in private, Chief Inspector?' said Jane Melts. 'If you'll excuse us, Alexander?'

'Of course,' Alexander prepared to leave, 'but I assure you it was all a misunderstanding! Sorry to have bothered you, Chief Inspector, and again, I'm pleased to have met you!' He left the room by another door, which seemed to lead through to the kitchen.

Barnaby, anxious to get away, turned to Jane Melts and asked: 'What was it you wanted, Mrs Melts?'

Jane Melts looked behind her to ensure that Alexander had left the room.

'I don't believe a word of what he said and I'm making this an official complaint!'

Barnaby raised his eyebrows. 'But it was your own son's words? Did you talk to Caitlin Ashmoore and what did she say?'

'Actually she told exactly the same story as Alexander did. But I still don't believe a word of it! There's something suspicious going on here!' Her voluptuous body shivered with frustration.

Barnaby looked at her, wondering what could cause such a reaction. 'You don't think they could perhaps be having some sort of relationship they want to keep quiet about?'

He was even more amazed when he thought that the huge Mrs Melts was going to burst in reaction to his words.

'A relationship? A Melts and an Ashmoore? Believe you me, Chief Inspector, there is something strange going on here, but a relationship between the two of them is out of the question!'

'I'm sorry, Mrs Melts, but I'm not quite following you here. It seems that you feel some sort of antagonism towards the Ashmoore family and you'll have to enlighten me as to what this is all about.'

'Don't you know who the Ashmoores are?' Jane Melts looked even more upset and genuinely surprised.

'No, I'm afraid I don't,' Barnaby admitted.

'They live at Ashmoore House, the other, larger estate,' Jane Melts emphasized the word 'larger' with disgust, 'and let's just say that the two families have never been on friendly terms with each other. And that's all I have to say about that!' She gave Barnaby a demanding look. 'Now, Chief Inspector, are you going to look into this matter or not?'

'Mrs Melts, if you insist, I'll have to.' Barnaby questioned her with his eyes, but there was no sign of hesitation in the steady gaze that met his. 'Right, I'll have a word with Caitlin Ashmoore and make some enquiries. Good day to you, Mrs Melts.' He rose and left the room, letting out a sigh of relief as he left the demanding Jane Melts behind.

**Chapter Five**

The sound of talking voices fell silent when Margarita Errol rose from her chair and addressed the meeting. There was no question of who was chairman of this ladies' club, or the Badger's Drift Church Charity Committee, as its official name was.

'So,' she said, 'let's see what we've come up with so far. We'll arrange a charity ball within the next few weeks. Responsible for that are Edna and Phyllis.'

She turned her eyes at two of the younger ladies, which in this case meant the late 40's.

'And then we'll have the lottery sales. Ruth and Esmeralda will hunt for prizes at the cheapest price and once that's in place we'll all have to do our best to sell the lottery tickets. Knowing Ruth and Esmeralda, I know these two ladies are like badgers, they don't let go until they've made you crack, so I'm sure they'll be able to get some very nice prizes from the local firms!'

Two elderly grey haired ladies giggled, amused and not a little flattered by the description of their capacity as bounty hunters.

'Then we have the market stall,' Margarita continued. 'Now, that is a bit of an issue. We'll be there all day, so it's hard to combine with daytime work. I'll be there of course, but we need one more. Is there any volunteer?'

'I suppose I could try.' The woman who spoke up was small, fragile-looking and of indeterminate age.

Margarita gave her a sharp look. 'No, Agnes, you know how easily you get over-tired and I reckon we'll have quite a lot to do at times. You'd be better off just praying for all activities to go well.'

Agnes Olsen seemed to shrink even more.

'I could do it,' Joyce said in an attempt to kill the uneasy silence that ensued, 'I don't have work to consider and I have my own car, so there's not a problem with transport.'

'Splendid!' Margarita looked satisfied. 'Joyce and me it is then and all these activities together should get us a fair bit of the amount we need for the church roof. Make sure now to tell all your family and friends to donate things we can sell at the stall! If we're here to collect them during Monday and Tuesday, we could start selling on Wednesday, don't you think, Joyce?'

'That's fine with me!'

How could she? Dave Errol stood in the shadows overhearing the meeting on his way to the vestry. Patronising poor Mrs Olsen like that! It hadn't taken him long to develop an affection for the kind and always polite Mrs Olsen. He had also soon realised that she was one of the few true believers in his parish. A lot of people took an interest in the church, but very few of them took a genuine interest in the faith!

Of course this had been a thorn in the side of Margarita, who had always considered true Christians to be somewhat naïve dreamers. And in her position of chairman of most church-related activities, which devolved naturally from her status as the vicar's wife, she seldom missed a chance to bully poor Agnes.

But Agnes was a true Christian! She turned the other cheek and kept tirelessly coming to the various charity meetings. Dave hoped that she in some way could feel the warm thoughts he was directing towards her, now that the meeting was breaking up.

He saw his wife collecting her papers. She was really enjoying this. To be the vicar's wife, a pillar of society, someone to be reckoned with. It had been her idea to get him a transfer to another parish as a career move and when Badger's Drift came up vacant, she'd been head over heels pushing him to talk to the bishop. And here they were, five months later. He had a large parish, a big church, but very few souls who wanted his spiritual guidance.

Sometimes, quite often actually, he missed the small parish they had left in the inner parts of Northumberland. People there confessed the faith and were a lot more concerned about the services and masses than using charity purposes as an excuse for having a party.

* * *

Tom drove slowly back towards the road to Ashmoore House. He was puzzled. The son, Alexander, had offered an explanation which was totally rejected by his mother. Was this a personal vendetta against the Ashmoore family? On the other hand he had to give it to her that the son's explanation didn't sound at all convincing.

It was all very confusing, but he had ended up with an official complaint which had to be investigated. While he was thinking he remembered that Alexander had said that Caitlin Ashmoore would be away for the day. He'd better give Ashmoore House a call to see if she was in before driving there. He picked up his mobile and dialled the number that Directory Enquiries gave him.

A very pleasant female voice answered the phone: 'Ashmoore House.'

It crossed Barnaby's mind that perhaps this was their maid speaking. 'Hello, I'm looking for Mrs Caitlin Ashmoore.'

'Speaking,' came the fast reply, 'and who am I talking to?'

'This is DCI Barnaby, Causton CID.'

'DCI? My oh my,' she sounded surprised, 'is this about that little incident this morning? I wouldn't have thought it was a matter for a DCI to handle?'

Of course she was right but Barnaby didn't even remotely want Caitlin to conclude that he was merely being the errand boy for some posh upper class woman, so he replied: 'I was on hand in the neighbourhood, so I thought I'd save some resources for the police force. And you're right, it is about this morning's events. Can I come and have a chat with you now?'

'Haven't you spoken to Alexander Melts?'

'Yes, I have…'

'Well, isn't it all sorted then? Didn't he tell you why I was there, when his ghastly mother came screaming and shouting the place down? He was kind enough to call me and tell me that you had been there.'

'Yes, he did, but there's still an official complaint which has to be investigated. Look, I'd much rather have this chat eye to eye than over the phone. Can I come to see you?'

'If you must,' she sounded slightly annoyed and hung up.

Following the road up to Ashmoore House, Barnaby realised that this was an even more impressive building than Charwood Hall. The large house was surrounded by well maintained stable buildings and he could hear the sound of cattle.

He went up to the front door and grasped the solid brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head, but before he had a chance to use it the door was opened by an elegant dark-haired woman in her early 30's.

'DCI Barnaby I presume?' the woman said.

'Yes, that's right.' Barnaby stuttered, amazed by the beauty of the young woman. She was medium height, with long dark hair, olive skin and big hazelnut brown eyes. She looked like a Mediterranean goddess.

'I'm Caitlin Ashmoore, do come in!'

Barnaby entered a large entrance hall, where several people appeared to be lined up waiting for him.

Barnaby started: 'As I said over the phone, I need to talk to you, but perhaps we should do so in private?' He let his eyes run over the line of people.

'No need,' Caitlin Ashmoore replied, 'this is my family and I have no secrets from them whatsoever. Please feel free to ask your questions, Mr Barnaby.'

Barnaby looked far from satisfied with this solution.

'If you say so, but if I am to question you in front of your family, perhaps we could be introduced?'

'Of course! This is my mother-in-law Rihanna Ashmoore.' Caitlin indicated with her hand a woman in her 60's. The dark, obviously dyed, hair was short and gave the woman an aggressive look. She reminded Barnaby a great deal of Jane Melts with that self-appointed attitude of superiority, only 40 pounds thinner.

'Mrs Ashmoore,' Barnaby met her eyes and all the response he got was a short nod.

Caitlin continued, now pointing at a short bulky man, also in his 60's: 'And this is my father-in-law Howard Leecham.'

Before Barnaby could ask about the difference in names, she went on: 'My husband Rick and my sister-in-law Gaynor.'

Barnaby looked at the two Ashmoore siblings. They were very much the male and female version of the same person, Rick being a few years younger than his sister. But there was a significant difference. Whereas Rick looked like a scared animal, ready to flee, Gaynor signalled strength and met Barnaby with a firm look.

'I'm glad to meet you all,' Barnaby said and went on, 'Well, as I said, this is about the incident this morning. Could you please tell me about it?' He turned to Caitlin again.

'Incident? Is that what it's called?' Caitlin gave him a broad smile, showing a perfect row of symmetrical white teeth. 'I thought that it had all been explained by Alexander Melts?'

'Alexander Melts told me that you had an appointment, but the time of that appointment strikes me as rather unusual. Six o'clock in the morning? Perhaps you would care to tell me all about it yourself?'

Barnaby noticed that at the mention of Alexander Melts' name Rick Ashmoore looked even more like a limp rag and as if he was about to burst into tears. He also saw Gaynor give him a quick punch in the back. A clear signal for him to straighten up and get a grip of himself.

'Well,' Caitlin started, 'as I'm sure Alexander told you, I was there to get some documents for a project in which we are both involved. But he must have overslept our meeting, because he wasn't there.'

'But how does that explain the fact that Mrs Melts found you trying to enter the house?'

'Having got over there at that time of day, I really didn't feel like going home empty-handed, so I thought I'd see if there was any way I could wake him up. I tried the front door, but it was locked and then I ended up trying the terrace door. And that's when that old bat came running towards me with all those completely absurd accusations!'

'That woman's got a nerve! How dare she..?' Rihanna Ashmoore muttered in the background, but the look she gave Caitlin told Barnaby she was anything but satisfied with this conversation.

'You didn't try his phone to wake him up?'

'Of course I should have, but I had left my mobile at home, you see…'

'Hmm, I see,' Barnaby paused thinking, 'but you're at home now. According to Alexander Melts the reason for this bright and early meeting was that you were going away for the day…'

Caitlin cleared her throat and Barnaby got the feeling of a not very honest answer when she said: 'I had plans to go to Bournemouth for the day, visiting an old friend, but when all this happened I really didn't feel up to it. So I stayed at home.'

At this point Howard Leecham couldn't control himself any more: 'Look Barnaby, just because this disgusting old woman's got a touch of Alzheimer's and got it all wrong, it doesn't mean you can come here harassing our family! Caitlin's given you a perfectly sound explanation. Even backed up by Alexander Melts, low life as he may be, but still giving you the same facts. I'd appreciate it if you would leave us now!' His face was all red and he was about to take a step forward when his wife stopped him by putting her hand on his arm.

'Chief Inspector Barnaby, excuse my husband's outburst, but I do understand how he feels. You can't seriously let that disturbed woman's hallucinations cause you to take the matter any further?' Her cold blue eyes stared at Barnaby, demanding obedience.

'I've had a formal complaint made and, if you don't mind, I'll be the judge of what actions I now need to take in my investigation.' Barnaby's normally soft voice had a tone of steel. 'But I've got the answers I needed and I won't trouble you any more, for now…' He turned to Caitlin: 'But I may get back to you for further questions.'

He addressed the entire family with his: 'Good day to you all!' And then he walked quickly out of the house.

Two haughty upper class families in one day, sending shivers down his spine, were two more than he needed.

Back in his car Barnaby took a deep breath and tried to eliminate the Melts and the Ashmoores from his thoughts. This seemed, after all, to be some sort of ridiculously vindictive family feud that had very little to do with real crime. He picked up his phone to call Joyce.

'Hello, love, finished with your meeting? Good, I thought maybe we'd grab a bite at the pub before going home? Save us the trouble of cooking tonight.'

In his mind he was already comparing a well cooked steak and kidney pie to whatever Joyce would be able to come up with and crossed his fingers, hoping she would agree. Which she did!

'Great!' said Barnaby, 'meet me outside the 'The Black Boy' in 15 minutes, OK?' He hung up and started to drive slowly back into Badger's Drift.

**Chapter Six**

The pub was very quiet for a Saturday afternoon and there was plenty of room to find a seat. Tom and Joyce placed their orders at the bar and settled in one of the corners.

Tom gave a brief résumé of his encounter with the Melts and Ashmoore families. 'But enough about them now,' he said, 'how was your meeting?'

Joyce told him about the plans and projects of St. Michael's Ladies' Club. 'So from Monday and for about two weeks, I'll be here at the square in Badger's Drift, selling things,' she ended.

'Together with this Margarita Errol. Is she 'nice' to be with then?' asked Tom.

'She's kind of nice,' said Joyce, 'perhaps a bit "bossy", but on the other hand, to get things done and be in charge, you might need to be that.'

The pub landlord interrupted, bringing their food. Barnaby could feel his stomach "talking" when the wonderful aroma from his pie reached his nose.

'It's good to see you here again, Tom, it's been a while, and your beautiful wife too of course!' The landlord smiled. 'But I do hope that nothing bad has happened to bring you here?' he asked with the inevitable curiosity of a pub owner.

'No no, not at all, Harry!' Tom smiled back at him and at his undisguised nosiness. 'Joyce here is engaged in the church's ladies' club and they've had a meeting.' Unable to resist any longer, Tom took a mouthful of pie and continued: 'You're not doing very much business for a Saturday afternoon. How's that?'

'It's me being stubborn,' Harry grinned, 'at least that's what the missus keeps telling me. I refuse to put in flat screens and turn this place into a sports bar. So when there's some big game going on, the customers go elsewhere, but I'm not worried. When they want a nice quiet meal or just a chat over a drink, they come back!' He left Tom and Joyce to enjoy their meal.

By the end of their meal, they were about the only customers left, so when Harry cleared the table, he asked them if it would be alright if he offered them a drink on the house and sat in.

'Of course, please do,' Tom and Joyce answered in chorus.

Settled with their drinks they chatted with Harry.

'Just out of curiosity, Harry, what can you tell me about the families Melts and Ashmoore?' asked Tom.

'Aye,' said Harry, 'that lot! Do you want the long or the edited version?'

'I don't know,' Tom answered honestly, 'I just seem to have heard that there's no love lost between them.' He didn't want to reveal the real reason for his interest. 'So I just wondered whether anything specific has caused this?'

Harry gave a satisfied sigh, satisfied at the opportunity of a bit of storytelling: 'Aye, the long version it is then!' And he began to tell the story of the Melts and the Ashmoore families.

'It all began back in the early 1800's when Adam Bendale, being a clever businessman and also an unscrupulous debt collector, acquired the largest estate in this part of the county. He already owned the smaller, but still impressive, estate of Charwood Hall. Now he took his wife and two daughters and moved from Charwood to the larger estate, which at that time was called Hoburn Hill. For many years he ran both estates with great success and the family's wealth and fortune grew and grew.

'Unlike most men of those times, Adam Bendale wasn't desperate to have a son and heir. On the contrary, he adored his two daughters and brought them up to be independent business women, capable of managing without the support of a man. He encouraged them to marry men of the people, not wealthy landowners like himself, and in due course the older daughter, Victoria, married the blacksmith's son, Duncan Melts, and the younger one, Edith, married one of his farmhands, Geoffrey Ashmoore.

'When he felt his time was coming to an end, Adam made a will which was quite extraordinary for the time. He left the two properties to his daughters, one to each, subject to certain conditions. The effect of these conditions was that the daughters had possession for life of their respective properties and their husbands had no rights over them. He even drew up a trust deed, so I've heard, which specified that, when his daughters passed away, the interest in these properties had to be passed on to the next generation daughters only! And so on and so on, from generation to generation, but the properties had to continue in the female line. What's more, his daughters, who became Melts and Ashmoore when they married, had to pass on their husbands' surname to every generation of daughters that came after them the men had nothing to do with it! They could choose whether to keep their own surnames or adopt the surname of their wives. He also stipulated that all future daughters in the two families had to adopt Bendale as a middle name, and he even tried to change his daughters' married names back to Bendale, but there he drew a blank.'

Harry paused in his story and took a swig of his untouched pint.

'But was this really possible in the 1800's?' asked Barnaby, 'Surely men's rights over women at that time were so strong that such an arrangement couldn't possibly have worked?'

'He spared no energy and no expense to make it work!' said Harry. 'He hired the best law firms in London and they assured him that, so long as the trust remained in force, it would work. I believe that the trust is today administered by a firm of solicitors in Causton 'Jocelyn and Jocelyn', I think.'

Tom's eyes opened imperceptibly wider as Harry mentioned the name of the elderly solicitor he had so often had to do business with in the past.

'They did warn, though,' continued the landlord, 'that if there was a legitimate son in Adam's generation that could cause problems challenging the terms of the trust and all that.'

'You say legitimate, Harry. Was there a son in Adam's generation?'

'Apparently there were rumours. One of the milkmaids had a son, by an unknown father. Normally she would have been thrown off the estate, but Adam Bendale put her up in a cottage of her own. Hence the rumours. It was also said that he left a small legacy to look after them in his will. But when the milkmaid and her son moved out of the area soon after Adam's death, that sort of killed the rumours.'

'But have these two families really been able to produce daughters in every generation?' asked Joyce, who had been listening in silence.

'Ahh, there's a question!' said Harry with a clever smile, 'there was talk of an adoption in the Ashmoore family during the First World War, but soon it was all written off as a rumour when the child, Rihanna Ashmoore's mother that would be, turned out to be the spitting image of her father.'

'Jane Melts only has two sons, hasn't she?' Barnaby did not recall any mention of a daughter.

'That's right,' said Harry, 'and that's her greatest worry and fear. She's desperate to get a granddaughter before she passes away herself. Then the estate of Ashmoore House (as it now is) goes to her.'

'And if there isn't a granddaughter?' asked Joyce.

'Then I'd suspect there will be trouble!' Harry looked as if he couldn't bring it on soon enough. 'I have no idea if the trust deed covers that eventuality of there being no daughter in any generation. I suppose nobody at the time could guess that people in the future would have so few children.'

'So, if she's that desperate,' said Barnaby, half to himself, 'that could explain…'

'The tarted up housemaid!' broke in Harry. He roared with laughter. 'That was one of Jane Melts' desperate plans. She's a local girl, picked for her good looks and hired to do domestic duties, but she's dressed so as to make one of the Melts sons jump on her and make her pregnant!' Tears were almost running down his cheeks as he went on, 'What she doesn't realize is that the older son, James, is as queer as a nun in a brothel, and that young Alexander is still pining for his sweetheart, Caitlin, who went and married an Ashmoore.'

Harry paused for breath. 'Oh, my God, there's enough material here for an entire soap opera, don't you think?' He didn't look in the least embarrassed at having made public the entire life history of two distinguished local families on the contrary, he seemed to have enjoyed it immensely. A true pub landlord was he!

Harry asked if they wanted another round and both Tom and Joyce, who felt that he had more to tell and were anxious to hear it, accepted without second thoughts.

'But I still don't see why they seem to dislike each other so much,' said Tom as soon as Harry had returned with a pint of bitter for Tom and a tomato juice for Joyce.

'Well, as I say, Adam Bendale made this arrangement with his daughters, and they knew that each of them would inherit one of the two properties when he passed on. What he never told them was a tiny, but very significant, detail in his will, which only came out after he had died.' Harry paused for dramatic effect to get his audience's full attention. 'Adam had assured them that the larger property would go to the daughter he considered most suitable in his eyes. Victoria, the older one, had always thought that her father favoured her over her sister, but when it came to it she was left the smaller property, Charwood Hall, and Edith Ashmoore got the larger house. Victoria was furious about this and tried to challenge the will, but without success. She had always been certain that she, as the older sister, should get the larger property. To add insult to injury, Edith's husband changed the name of their property to Ashmoore House. And since then the two families haven't spoken one single kind word to each other and even less about one another!'

'But surely, after all this time…' Joyce sounded hesitant.

Harry looked at her with a smug smile. 'Well, how shall I put it? They've all worked hard over the years to add fuel to the fire, so I'd say it's worse now than it's ever been!' He took a sip of beer and continued, 'Howard Leecham and Arthur Conrads had been best mates since childhood, about the mid 1950's. Even when Howard was seeing Jane Melts and Arthur was going out with Rihanna Ashmoore they met from time to time and kept their friendship going.' He made yet another theatrical pause.

'But… what happened?' Joyce couldn't wait to hear the rest.

'The Melts seem always to have been the ones to get their revenge in first. Jane Melts was very pretty as a young woman. Yes, I know it's hard to believe now,' he smiled towards Tom, 'but I'm about their age and I know from my own experience. Rihanna Ashmoore was more of a plain girl, with an embarrassing stutter to go with it. So, presumably just to get back at the Ashmoores, Jane started courting Arthur. He was a young man full of testosterone, so he was an easy catch! Howard couldn't believe that his own best friend should steal Jane from under his nose, so he ended up comforting himself with Rihanna. I'd say the husbands are even greater enemies than the wives are. There was even a fist fight some thirty years ago!'

'And then add the beautiful Caitlin going out with Alexander Melts, only to marry Rick Ashmoore later on… I think I am beginning to see what this all about,' Tom thought out loud. 'Thank you very much, Harry! Both for the drinks and for your very enlightening local history lesson.'

'My pleasure!' said Harry, who looked as though he really meant it.

**Chapter Seven**

What a night it had been! Shannon turned out to be just as much fun as he'd thought she would be. She was even witty and her green eyes sparkled mischievously when she said something naughty. There wasn't one single disappointment so far, Scott thought, resting in the comfort of Shannon's sofa.

He was glad she'd suggested they finish off the evening at her place. It wouldn't have been half as enjoyable if they'd both had to squeeze into his tiny flat.

Shannon had been wearing a modern very nice little tight, black dress. It ended just below the bum and revealed a pair of long, well-developed legs. It also gave her a generous décolletage and, in Shannon's case, there was plenty to be generous with in that department. She was just the way Dan appreciated a woman!

Perhaps, he was willing to admit to himself, he went more by looks than he ought to. But what the heck, there was plenty of time later to settle down with a nice little lady and raise a family. Then he would go for the "beautiful inside" as well, he promised himself.

So far, Shannon seemed to tick both boxes.

He sipped the beer she'd given him before she went to the bathroom.

The bathroom door opened and Dan waited for Shannon to come out. Perhaps she'd "slipped into something more comfortable?" Classic line, not to be neglected!

Shannon appeared…she hadn't slipped into anything…she'd just slipped out of that little black dress and now looked as if she'd just stepped out of a fancy ad for expensive underwear.

Dan gulped.

He gulped even more when she sat down face to face over his knee, took his beer away and bent forward for their lips to meet.

What a night it had been and it was yet to be even better!

* * *

The graveyard was in complete darkness. Caitlin wished that there had been a better place for them to meet, but the village was too small and full of nosy neighbours. Going away too often would also cause suspicion, so they had settled for the place where they were least likely to be disturbed. A graveyard in darkness still had a frightening effect on most people.

It had all started off really strangely, but the information that she had got seemed reliable, and she had known instantly that the way to get her hands on these documents was through Alexander. The poor bugger still had such a soft spot for her. When she had detained him after a meeting for the beaver project and then seduced him, right there on the floor of the community house, she knew she had him hooked!

The bonus of it all was that Rick, even if he couldn't prove anything, sensed that she was seeing another man, the sensitive little sod that he was, and it didn't take too much of his imagination to work out that it was Alexander she was seeing. He had cried and begged her to stop seeing Alexander, but she just laughed at him and asked what there was to stop? Did he have any evidence?

The worthless little git! If he had been only half a man, he would have given her a child by now! The only reason for leaving Alexander and marrying Rick had been the very good business proposal Rihanna had made. Rihanna was a clever and dangerous woman. She had seen what Jane had refused to see about her own sons. That James was gay and that Alexander was a romantic fool who only had eyes for Caitlin. Taking Caitlin out of the game strongly reduced Jane Melts' chances of getting a granddaughter.

The business proposal had been strong and up front. If she married Rick, Rihanna would make them both benefit generously from her will. Not that they would get Ashmoore House, which was destined for Gaynor. No, but they'd get a large enough share of cash to make living easy without having to work for the money. Easy living was something that had always tasted good in Caitlin's mouth.

And now with these documents turning up living would be even easier…for her. Not for Rick or any other of the Ashmoores. She didn't mind! She could easily continue her relationship with Alexander or find someone else for that matter. Perhaps she should keep a toy-boy? Caitlin giggled at the thought.

A shadow broke through the glimpse of moonlight and then it was gone. She turned around to look, when she felt a pair of hands gripping her from behind.

She let out a deep sigh of pleasure when the hands reached round and squeezed her breasts. She turned face to face with Alexander and said: 'Oh, darling, I've been missing you so much!' before she kissed him.

'Me too, babe,' said Alexander, 'me too. But darling, what was that all about this morning?'

Caitlin wanted to get away from the subject as fast as possible. Alexander might be a romantic fool, but he was no fool otherwise. Even if he had bought her explanation over the phone, she knew herself how weak it was if you started to question it. She didn't want that discussion with Alexander right now and she knew just the trick!

'Later, love,' she said sticking her tongue into his ear, 'we'll talk later. Right now I just want to feel you!'

Right before Alexander's hungry eyes Caitlin unbuttoned her blouse quickly and let free the glory of her firm bosom. There was no bra, simply because she didn't need one. While Alexander was swallowing hard, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground. There was nothing under the skirt either. She lay down on the blanket she had put out on the grass and whispered: 'Come, Alexander, come!'

Before her whisper had died away, Alexander was out of his clothes. Hungry and lustful he fell down beside her. Hands and tongues were all over her. Oh, she'd really miss these moments with Alexander once she'd dumped him. On the other hand, if there was a toy-boy to fill the gap… Perhaps not after all!

Alexander lay on his back and Caitlin made herself comfortable on top of him. They found a mutual rhythm.

A crackling sound came from one of the bushes. They both stopped and listened carefully, but there was no more sound.

'Probably just a fox,' whispered Caitlin.

'I really hate this sneaking away business', whispered Alexander.

'So, you hate it, do you? What is it that I'm feeling then?' Caitlin teased him.

'You know what I mean, Caitlin,' Alexander said looking a bit hurt, 'I love making love to you. It's the sneaking about that gets to me.'

No, no, better not let him go down that track again, Caitlin thought and said: 'Let's not discuss that now, darling. Plenty of time for that later. Now I just want us to enjoy ourselves!'

Caitlin leaned forward and placed her hands on Alexander's chest and found the rhythm again. She looked down at him. His eyes were closed. He opened them and looked at her and she could really see the love and affection in his gaze.

Suddenly his eyes opened wide, he opened his mouth and said: 'Caitlin!'

Her first thought was 'not already?' and then she felt a burning pain in her back. It all went black and she fell down lifeless on top of Alexander. With panic in his eyes Alexander struggled to push Caitlin off him. He'd seen what was coming. But he didn't stand a chance. The dark figure's hand helped push Caitlin's numbed body away. But it was not to help him.

In another brief shaft of moonlight, the non-present spectator would have seen a gloved hand holding a large knife rise and hit down hard, several times…

Oddly enough Alexander thought of Sunday school together with Caitlin as the life drained from his body…

**_To be continued tomorrow…_**


	3. Part 3 Sunday

**Sunday**

**Chapter Eight**

Margarita sat down on the chair in the hallway and put on her trainers. 'Come on, Dave, let's go for a walk now,' she shouted into the kitchen.

'But you know I don't like to walk before breakfast,' Dave moaned from the breakfast.

'Stop fussing,' Margarita said sharply, 'it'll do you good and you know that!' She now stood in the kitchen door and looked at him. 'The sun is shining, the birds are singing and it's a beautiful morning. I thought we'd walk through the graveyard to make sure it's in order for the bishop's visit next Sunday - and who knows Dave, perhaps I'll even lean forward over one of the headstones and pull up my skirt?' She gave him a mischievous smile. 'That ought to clear your head for the Sunday service, so you can give them the brimstone and fire with a relieved conscience, don't you think?'

Dave Errol blushed all over his face. He hated when she talked promiscuously to him and she knew that far too well.

'Stop mocking me', he said grumpily. 'Alright, I'll walk with you but I prefer to save my energy for the words of God. In a graveyard…? That would be nothing but blasphemy!'

They went out of the small vicarage and Margarita had been right. It was truly a wonderful morning. They followed the road, bordered by a stone wall, leading to the graveyard's entrance. Margarita seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood. She whistled and even took his hand while they were walking. For a moment Dave could feel closeness to her and had a mind flash of what could've been, if only she had been less into career and society and more of a family woman.

They passed through the gateway and entered the beautiful graveyard. Margarita, efficient as she was, almost immediately fell on her knees and started clearing up a grave, muttering about how people could put their loved ones in the ground accompanied by tears and wailing and then just seem to forget all about it and let the grave fall into a mess.

Dave strolled along the footpath and just enjoyed the warm sunshine and the silence. Suddenly he saw something behind a large headstone. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Few things could get Dave Errol to lose his temper. Disrespect for other people's beliefs and traditions was certainly one of them. This was outrageous!

He could see the behind of a woman lying in the grass and it was naked. Someone certainly seemed to have misunderstood the purpose of a graveyard.

With large steps he rounded a few bushes to get to the intruders, to tell them exactly what he thought about this unacceptable behaviour!

He was ready to burst out with some heavy reprimanding words, when he instinctively had to throw up at what he saw. With tears running out of his eyes and between the vomits, he croaked: 'Margarita, please, Margarita.'

Margarita heard Dave making peculiar noises, but thought she heard her name in it. What is it now? she thought, tempted just to yell back at him. But she rose from the grave and hurried over. She saw Dave on all four apparently being sick and when she lifted her eyes she could see why.

Caitlin Ashmoore's naked body was sprawled on the ground. Her head lay on its side and when Margarita came closer she saw that the back of her head was crushed. One of the Ashmoore family headstones was smeared in blood, so there was no doubt what had happened. Caitlin's head had been smashed against the stone.

'Please Margarita, help me,' Dave sobbed. 'We must do something!'

'What is there to do?' Margarita at once became practical, watching her useless caricature of a husband. 'Other than call the police? I'll run home and call them at once!'

'But please, Margarita, you can't leave me here,' the sobbing from Dave continued.

'Well, I can't carry you home either, can I? Get a grip of yourself and walk away from there. Won't be long!' And then she hurried home as fast as her legs could take her.

When Margarita came back to the graveyard she walked slowly towards the grave where Caitlin's body lay. She couldn't find Dave anywhere near it. She looked around and called out: 'Da-a-ave! Where are you?'

'Over here…' She heard Dave's muffled voice coming through some bushes.

He was obviously seeking shelter from the terrible scene and she couldn't blame him. She walked towards his voice and found him sitting on a bench with his face in his hands. He cried hysterically. Moaning and sobbing and repeating: 'Oh my God, Oh my God, please God help us!'

She could see why. On the other side of the footpath lay another body. Also naked and she could see the multiple stab wounds in the chest and stomach. Alexander Melts had been butchered. His head had also been smashed repeatedly against a headstone of one of the Melts family graves. It was total carnage.

* * *

Even though Dan had turned the sound off his mobile phone, he was woken up by the vibrations it made against the bedroom floor. What the… Who was it calling now, at this time on a Sunday morning? The alarm clock's digital figures showed 7.50. He wasn't ready to get up yet. He was tired, it was his day off and he reckoned he still had some very pleasurable unfinished business with Shannon ahead of him. Dan tried to ignore the drilling sound from the phone, but whoever it was, was persistent and eventually Dan gave in.

He cleared his throat and answered, whispering so as not to wake Shannon up: 'Scott.'

'Wakey, wakey, Dan! Time to get up!' Desk Sergeant Tim Angel's spiteful voice screamed in his ear.

'Damn it Tim, if this is some kind of practical joke I'll rip your privates off and feed them to the foxes!'

Tim Angel, steadily married and father of four, but about the same age as Dan, could seldom resist an opportunity to make fun of Dan and his love life.

'Sorry Dan! No, I'm afraid this is really serious business. There appears to be a double murder in Badger's Drift. You'll have to get out there as soon as possible!'

'What? A double murder?' Dan had a hard time taking the message in. 'Why call me? It's the boss who's in charge.'

'I know,' said Tim, 'but I can't get a-hold of him. The boss is on his way over to the Chief Constable in Lenford for some strategic lunch meeting and he seems to have forgotten his mobile. At least that's what his wife said.'

'Strategic lunch meeting? On a Sunday?' Dan couldn't disguise his incredulous tone.

'Well, you know how it is. If the Chief Constable invites, you don't turn it down, even if it's Sunday or Christmas Day. So, you'll have to get out there, quick! Uniform and forensics are already on their way to secure the crime scene.'

'Right, right, I'm on my way!'

Dan put down the phone and turned to Shannon. She was awake and smiling at him. She was so beautiful and Dan cursed whichever gods were playing their evil games with him.

Dan opened his mouth: 'Look, I'm so sorry, but I'll have to dash…'

'Already?' Shannon pouted with her lower lip.

'Yes, I'm afraid it's an emergency.'

'Will I see you tonight?' asked Shannon.

'I'm sorry, but I really don't know, look I'll give you a call. OK?'

Shannon looked sad and sighed: 'That's what they usually say, isn't it?'

'Shannon, you must believe me,' said Dan with feeling, 'there's no place on earth I'd rather be than here with you, but you see…'

Shannon fired off the most beautiful smile at him: 'Please Dan, I know you have to go. I'm only teasing you! Off you go and you make sure to give me a call when you're off duty again. I think you've created an emptiness in me and I need you to fill it soon…' Her eyes told Dan that she didn't mean it just metaphorically, but literally as well.

Dan smiled at her with relief and then rushed out of the door, to get his car.

* * *

He parked just outside the graveyard entrance, ducked under the police tape and walked in.

He spotted the forensics in their boiler suits and walked over. 'Hi', he said, 'what's the situation?'

'Well, for her I'd say it's beyond critical,' one of the boiler suits answered with a familiar voice, 'but it seems she at least got what she came for, before something, or perhaps I should say someone, hit her.'

'Dan! Long time, no see,' Scott said to the boiler suit.

'Same to you, Dan!' The boiler suit containing Dr Dan Peterson replied.

'What brings you here? And where's Bullard?' asked Scott.

'Holiday! Apparently Bullard and the missus are on some trip to the French wine districts, so I have to offer my humble services to the Midsomer Constabulary.'

Scott was pleased. He liked Dan Peterson, Bullard's stand-in. Barnaby couldn't stand the man and his sense of gallows humour, but Scott appreciated it. And not only that, he thought Peterson was more exact, more of a scientist than Bullard was. Not so much guessing and relying on experience, cold hard facts were the stock-in-trade of both "the Dans".

'Don't know if I'd put your name and humble in the same sentence,' Scott smiled. 'Business now, what can you tell me?'

'Not much apart from the obvious, at this time,' said Peterson. 'She was stabbed once in the back. Probably not a killing wound, but serious enough. Then the killer finished the job by smashing her head several times against that headstone. Nasty business! She was naked when she died and before you ask I'd estimate the time of death as somewhere between 10 pm and midnight.'

'How do you know she was naked?'

'Sometimes you're even more stupid than you look,' grinned Peterson, 'she has blood all over her skin and her clothes are that tidy little pile over there. No blood stains on them. I would also say, from my visual examination, that she had sex right before or while she was murdered. But of course I'll be able to be more certain about that once I've got her on the slab.'

'Sex while she was murdered, God that's awful!' Scott's face showed distaste all over.

'I thought that was the death we all dream about,' chuckled Peterson, 'but of course, perhaps not being murdered.'

'They said it was a double murder…?' Scott looked around.

'Follow me!'

Peterson led Scott around the bushes to the place where Alexander Melts' body was.

'Same MO I'd say, except that this one was stabbed several times in his chest and stomach, with what I would call fury! This poor chap was definitely already dead when his head was smashed.'

'One killer or two killers?' Scott asked.

Peterson thought for a while. 'We don't have any blood identification yet, but my guess is that they were both killed where the woman was found. Blood samples will probably give us that. Then the man was dragged over here and his head battered against this headstone. I'd say one killer. Attacking two people busy making love would have made it possible. The woman is on top of the man, she gets stabbed once in the back and then the murderer attacks the man, the stronger and more dangerous opponent.'

'Why drag the man away from the murder scene and then bash his head in? Why not do it there?' Scott looked thoughtful.

'Well, that's up to you to find out!' Peterson looked at Scott. 'But they both had ID's in their clothes and this young man is, sorry was, Alexander Melts and his head has been in less than friendly contact with the stone of a Melts family grave. The young woman was Caitlin Ashmoore and her head made lethal contact with the stone of an Ashmoore family grave. There's your clues… Now it's up to you.'

'OK, thanks,' said Scott, 'I'll leave you to it. Get back to me as soon as you find anything, will you?'

'Your humble servant I,' Peterson replied with a large dose of irony.

While walking over to one of the uniformed officers, Scott called the station: 'No contact with the DCI yet?' he asked.

'No, sorry Dan,' Tim Angel answered, 'but I've left a message at the Chief Constable's, so he'll be in touch as soon as he gets there.'

Scott walked up beside the uniformed sergeant in charge. 'Hello Ron! Who found them and called in?'

Ron pointed at the Errols, sitting on a bench a bit away from the crime scenes. 'Those two, it's the vicar and his wife. He's in quite a state, but she seems calm enough to talk to.'

Scott walked over to the Errols and identified himself.

While Margarita Errol described the morning's events, Dave Errol sobbed through the entire interview.

As far as Scott could judge, Margarita Errol told a simple enough story. They hadn't seen anything that was out of the ordinary, they hadn't seen any living person at all and there just wasn't much they could add to the obvious picture of the crime scene.

Full of sympathy for the shocking experience they had been exposed to, Scott took their contact details and told Margarita to take her husband home. He'd call in later to make an appointment for them to come into Causton and make their formal statements.

Just as the Errols left, Barnaby called on Scott's mobile. Scott briefed him about the situation.

'All I wanted was an excuse to miss this strategy lunch,' Barnaby said, 'but not this kind of excuse. Look, I'll be over right away, but it'll be at least an hour. Set up the door-to-door among the neighbours, while waiting, will you?'

'Right, sir, already up and running, but this place really is on the edge of the village and there aren't any neighbours nearby. But of course we'll talk to those nearest. See you later, sir.'

**Chapter Nine**

Scott knocked carefully at the door to the small vicarage. Margarita Errol came to open the door.

'Sorry to intrude, Mrs Errol,' Scott said, 'how is your husband?'

Margarita Errol looked at him and smiled: 'Don't excuse yourself, young man, you're just doing your job. Sergeant Scott was it…?'

'Yes, Dan Scott.'

'Well, Dan, I am Margarita and, as far as my husband goes, I've managed to get two large whiskies down him and that should keep him sleeping for several hours. He's not much of a drinker, you see.'

Dan looked at Margarita. She seemed so in control, but perhaps she just held her feelings back? She really was a nice woman to look at and, despite the age difference, Dan wouldn't have thought twice if the right opportunity occurred.

But now was not an opportunity and Dan's thoughts flashed back to the opportunities he'd left behind a short while ago in Shannon's warm bed.

'Do you think you will be able to come to Causton tomorrow? To the station that is. We'll need a formal statement and I'm sure the DCI would want to talk to you both.' Dan paused.

'But if your husband… I mean, we can send someone over…'

'Don't fuss, Dan, tomorrow he'll be fine. Will 2 o'clock do?'

'Yeah, sure, fine… Well, thank you for now, Mrs... Margarita!'

Dan turned and went back to the graveyard. Not much more to be done there, other than letting the forensics get on with their job, so he headed for the car and sat waiting for the DCI.

* * *

'Scott!' Barnaby's sharp voice was followed by his fist bumping heavily on the car roof.

'Sorry, sir, I must have drifted off for a while.' Scott rubbed his eyes, opened the car door and got out.

'Where are the bodies? And where's Bullard?' Barnaby didn't sound at all pleased.

'Dan, I mean, Dr Peterson asked me if they could move the bodies away once they were finished and I told them it was OK.'

'Why in God's name did you do that?' Barnaby's face turned red with indignation. 'And did you say Peterson? Aaah, George is still on holiday, isn't he? Peterson… Why didn't you stop him? You know very well I want to see the crime scene as it was when first found!'

'With all due respect, sir,' Scott emphasized "sir" quite forcibly, 'this is a public graveyard and in consideration of the deceaseds' families I thought it better to remove the bodies as fast as possible, sir!'

Barnaby was working up a real temper and the thought of that smug Dan Peterson made him want to burst. He took 10 deep breaths and realised Scott was right. Slowly he calmed down. There would be photos and exact descriptions of the crime scene in the forensic report.

But… he would have wanted to see the crime scene for himself. He couldn't really explain why, but it was something about getting a feeling of the murder… his instincts worked better on visual impressions.

Ah well, he'd have to trust Scott on this one, but he wasn't happy about it.

'Come on then, we'll have to inform the families. Another one of the joys and pleasures of our calling.' The sarcasm in Barnaby's words was obvious. 'Leave your car here. We'll take mine.'

* * *

During the drive Barnaby told Scott about yesterday's burglary incident and about the conversations he had had with the Melts and the Ashmoores. As they drove up to Charwood Hall he had reached the end of the summary of Harry's long tale about the families.

'Looks as if you definitely were right about one thing, sir,' said Scott, relieved that his senior officer now seemed to have gone back to his old polite manners.

'Such as...?' asked Barnaby.

'The relationship! Peterson was pretty sure that Alexander Melts and Caitlin Ashmoore were having sex when they were murdered.'

Barnaby gave a satisfied smile, despite the nature of their mission.

'I knew there was something in his way of trying to excuse her fiddling with the door and in the way that she relied on him having got the matter sorted. I knew it!'

When they stopped the car a tall man with thin grey hair, flying in the wind, came towards them. Barnaby thought that this must be Arthur Conrads and prepared himself to give the bad news.

They stepped out of the car.

'Good day, sir, I am DCI Barnaby and this is DS Scott. We're sorry to intrude but we'd like to talk to you and your family.'

'Good day, Chief Inspector,' the man said and gave a short, barely acknowledging nod towards Scott, 'I imagine this must be about yesterday's horrendous happenings, isn't it?'

'Not quite so, I'm afraid, Mr Conrads, but perhaps…'

'Conrads? I haven't been named Conrads since the day I married, Chief Inspector!' He was obviously insulted.

'I am sorry Mr… Melts. But this really is a matter to be discussed inside the house. Perhaps if you would let us in and get your wife and son, please?

'I have two sons, Chief Inspector?' Arthur Melts gave Barnaby a long suspicious look, but showed them into the library and went to get the rest of the family.

Bugger, Barnaby thought to himself. A slip of the tongue like that wasn't a good start to the message they were bringing.

Soon Arthur Melts came back with his wife and the oldest son, James. Greetings were exchanged and they all sat down.

'Well, Chief Inspector,' Jane Melts heaved her bosom as she continued, 'dare I ask if you've come to tell us you've arrested her?'

'Mrs Melts, I am so sorry, but I'm bringing bad news. Your son Alexander was found dead this morning.'

Barnaby sighed. It never got any easier.

One could touch the silence. There was not a sound for what seemed like minutes. Both Arthur and James Melts stared at no obvious point with an absolutely empty gaze. The only sign of reaction was Jane Melts' shoulders beginning to shudder. Her grief, her tears and her crying was so silent Barnaby and Scott could barely hear it.

Barnaby let the silence rest over the room for a while, but when the inevitable question "how?" never came, he cleared his throat: 'I'm afraid he was murdered…'

A painful cry came from Arthur Melts' lips. Jane Melts' crying was now increasing. He could see poor James struggle with the shock and his feelings, trying to keep control.

Barnaby remained silent.

After what seemed like ages Jane Melts rose her head, looked at Barnaby and uttered: 'Chief Inspector, would you mind if we spoke to you alone?'

The implication towards Scott's unwanted presence was undisguised.

Barnaby's inner instinct was to tell them who was in charge, but he fought it the moment he realised that Scott would probably have better luck than himself with questioning the housemaid.

He addressed Scott, as well as the Melts, when he said: 'Scott, perhaps you could talk to the staff? Is there anyone else apart from the maid?'

'No,' answered James in a broken voice, 'there's only Milla. The farmhands will all be out on the estate for the grass harvest, but they're not regular staff. We hire them for the season. Mostly Polish, they are. Milla's the only regular member of staff there is.'

Barnaby's eyes told Scott to bounce off and go and find this Milla, in his mind feeling certain that Scott's eyes would have a treat if she was dressed the same way as yesterday.

Scott got the message and went out through one of the library doors.

Once Scott had left the questions came pouring out of all three of them. Why? Where? How?

Barnaby tried as gently as he could to describe the circumstances surrounding young Alexander's death and it all went rather well until he mentioned Caitlin Ashmoore.

'Well, isn't it quite obvious then?' said Jane Melts as her eyes suddenly focused sternly on Barnaby's eyes.

'Excuse me, but what exactly is obvious?' asked Barnaby.

She gazed at him as if he was mentally disabled. 'The ones to blame, of course. The Ashmoores! Isn't it obvious they're behind all this?'

'I'm sorry, I cannot imagine the shock you're going through, but Caitlin Ashmoore was also killed. Wouldn't that contradict the crime being committed by one of the Ashmoores?' Barnaby suggested as gently as he could. The thought crossed his mind: Except Rick Ashmoore. He would definitely have a motive. But somehow he couldn't picture Rick as a cold-blooded killer.

'But surely you must be aware of the fact that she was married an Ashmoore?' Arthur Melts spoke out of anger. 'They wouldn't care twice about her if they found out that she was…' He searched desperately for the right words. '…engaging with someone from our family.'

Barnaby tried to calm things down, before they got out of hand: 'We're still in the very early stages of this investigation. But time is essential so I'm afraid I'll have to ask you this, do you know of anyone who could have wanted to harm Alexander?'

'Apart from the obvious, you mean?' Jane Melts snapped, sharp as a razor. Her voice softened: 'No, I really can't think why anyone would do this to him. He was such a gentle boy with such good manners.' She stated that as if it was an indestructible protection against anything bad happening.

Barnaby looked towards James Melts and his father, but they both shook their heads.

'Again, I am so sorry for your loss. I'll leave you now, but I am afraid I'll have to come back tomorrow with further questions.'

The only response he got was their empty gazes and Jane Melts' shoulders starting to shudder again.

Barnaby's final words that a forensic team would want to have access to Alexander's room was met with the same lack of response.

On the outside steps up to the front door he met Scott, who told him that the maid had nothing to contribute. She'd made her fair attempts at trying to get Alexander into bed, without doubt seeing her own advantage if the outcome was successful, Scott remarked. But he had been gentle and polite when, as always, he turned her offers down.

Barnaby sighed: 'Let's get over to the Ashmoores, shall we?'

**Chapter Ten**

The meeting with the Ashmoores was quite different. No one in the family seemed terribly grief-stricken, with the exception of Rick Ashmoore. He cried helplessly and, after a subtle question from Barnaby at which his alibi was established, he was led to his room.

Rick had been attending the polo club's annual meeting and party afterwards and Barnaby had no doubts that this alibi would stick, when later checked upon.

On the question as to whether they had any idea of who would want to harm Caitlin and Alexander, the only one to answer was Gaynor: 'I really don't believe it myself, but the only one I can think of would be James Melts.'

'How's that?' Scott asked.

'It's been quite obvious that Jane Melts has put all her energy and resources into Alexander to produce an heir,' she emphasized the word 'produce', looking as if she had swallowed something bad. 'I would imagine that James, not being a "natural" breeder, felt a bit sidelined by his more extroverted brother.' Now she stressed 'natural' with a sarcastic smile.

'But do you really think…' Barnaby broke in, but before he'd finished she continued.

'As I said, I really don't think so myself, but it's the only theory I can come up with.'

'But why Caitlin..?' Scott let the question hang in the air.

'She was collateral damage, of course!' For the first time Howard Leecham opened his mouth. 'If they were, as you say, in an intimate situation, he couldn't kill just one of them, could he?'

In a low voice, more to himself, he continued: 'I wouldn't put it beyond an immoral bastard like that. Damn poofs, I wouldn't trust one of them to guard a broomstick.'

They left the Ashmoores with the same message about forensics coming over and more interviews later on.

In the car back to Causton Barnaby told Scott to prepare for a late evening. They had to sit down and map out all the known facts and hopefully find something that would give them a flying start tomorrow.

Back at the station he smiled to himself, when he overheard Scott calling someone and in a muffled voice explaining that he wouldn't be able to make it tonight. He thought he heard the name "Shannon" and it was easy to put two and two together.

Now it was time for work!

* * *

_I was quietly sitting by the fireplace when the cat jumped up onto my knee, where it settled and began its 'purr-purr-purr'. I let my hand gently stroke the cat's fur, increasing its pleasure and purring. _

_It was time to calm down now and think about the next step._

_It all had been so much easier than one might at first have imagined. Alexander Melts and Caitlin Ashmoore had been regular 'guests' at the graveyard ever since I had planted the idea in Caitlin's brain. The idea that she was going to benefit and that Alexander was the tool whereby she would succeed._

_Still, waiting in the bushes in the darkness had been a nervous moment, with my knees almost shaking. But once the young couple had come within sight, the nervousness had been replaced by anger and rage._

_That egoistic little tart – ready to use her body to get advantages and that stupid young man – so stupid he actually believed it was all about love._

_To rid the earth of such creatures was almost not a crime!_

_Once I had stepped forward from behind the bushes and there was no returning, it had been easy. The knife had done the job and it was almost as if arm and hand worked together of their own accord._

_Bashing the heads in had been a bit messy, but necessary to send out the message._

_The cat changed position._

_It was time for the next step now._

_The mobile phone was already in my hand. These unregistered sim cards were fantastic. One just opened the phone, took out the used card and threw it away and then replaced it with a new one._

_I began to spell a text message with my thumb… _

_

* * *

_

'Come on, Scott, let's call it a day.' Barnaby stretched out in his office chair and suppressed a big yawn with the back of his hand. 'It's nearly eight and we won't hear from forensics until tomorrow.'

They went out to the car park.

'Bugger,' Scott cursed, 'my car's still in Badger's. We forgot to pick it up.' He really didn't look in the mood for a walk home.

'Indeed we did,' Barnaby chuckled. 'Jump in, I'll give you a lift!'

As soon as they sat down in the car Scott started to send a text. His mobile buzzed with the reply and he smiled when he said: 'Sir, do you think you could possibly drop me off at Canal Street?'

Barnaby smiled back at him and turned left: 'Canal Street it is. I'd hate to cause any trouble to your love life. Do I know the young beauty in question?'

'Wouldn't think so, sir. I've just met her, but she seems really great. Her name's Shannon Cleeves.' Scott's eyes had a dreamy gaze.

'Well, you'd better introduce us then on some occasion. Here's Canal Street! Off you go and see you tomorrow. Eight sharp! Have a pleasant night.' Barnaby's mocking smile was all over his face.

While driving home he thought back at the time when he had first met Joyce. How beautiful she had been. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She was still beautiful of course, in fact so beautiful Barnaby felt like skipping dinner and having an early night.

He arrived home and parked his car. Went in through the front door and straight into the living room. Without a word he bent down and lifted Joyce up in his arms and kissed her passionately.

'Tom… Tom… What's got into you?' she giggled as he carried her up the stairs, but she couldn't wait to find out.

* * *

Shannon met Dan at the door. 'So glad you could make it after all!'

'Me too.' Dan let his eyes eat her beauty while she stood there in her bathrobe.

'Come in,' she said, opening her robe and revealing her naked body, 'and I don't mean just through the door.'

Her smile reached her eyes and Dan hurried to get the door closed behind him.

**Chapter Eleven**

'There you are. Finally I got hold of you. Is there any news?'

A gentle voice down the line answered: 'Mrs Melts, if there's any news, if there's any hint of progress at all, you know I'll contact you immediately.'

'But you've been going on for months now! And your bills keep coming. You're ruining me.' Jane Melts sounded bitter.

'Please listen to me, Mrs Melts, this is like searching for a needle in a haystack. It's not as if we have much to go on, is it?'

'But my sister…'

'I know your sister said she adopted her daughter away in London', the voice on the phone interrupted her, 'but you do have to remember, your sister was a junkie and it was an illegal adoption. There are hardly any traces at all.'

'A junkie…' Jane Melts' voice began to rise.

'Sorry Mrs Melts, didn't mean to be rude. Let's just say she had an unhealthy appetite for unhealthy substances for a long time. That's what killed her, right?'

'She died of pneumonia, poor Alice, only 27 she was.'

'That's sort of what I said, wasn't it?' The voice couldn't withhold a short laugh. 'We'll keep on searching Mrs Melts, rest assured, with the few leads we have. But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you and as for ruining you, I wouldn't think so.' The voice laughed again.

'Mr Cribb, you have no idea how many private investigators I have had hired before you! And all of you do charge your expensive fees, whether you come up with results or not.' Jane Melts' face turned red in anger.

'Good bye Mrs Melts,' PI Cribb felt this was the time to end the conversation, 'if there's any news at all, I know where to find you.'

The phone line went silent in Jane Melts' ear and she smashed the receiver down. She'd give that useless man another week, then she'd look for a better private investigator. Only, better meant even more expensive…

* * *

Gaynor jumped down from the horse and handed the reins to Bill, the farmhand. She had hoped that an evening ride would calm her down, but when she went straight up to her room, she slammed the door behind her. She was still irritated.

She could feel there was trouble coming. The murder of Caitlin and Alexander Melts was of course trouble enough, but that was not what was bothering her. She didn't have the slightest trace of sympathy for Caitlin. She knew what that little tart had been. An easy-goer with a large appetite for the good life. Gaynor knew mother had "bought" her, not to be kind to Rick, but to annoy the Melts.

But of course Rick, the soft little sod, had fallen helplessly in love with Caitlin, when she played her well rehearsed act of falling in love with him. Though she had been a great actress! Gaynor had to give her that. As for Alexander… He was a Melts, wasn't he? No tears to be shed for him. But for some reason Gaynor felt that the murders were only the beginning.

Her mobile gave a message signal and she picked it up from the bedside table. There was a message. The sending number was not in the phonebook and Gaynor, slightly puzzled, read the message: "check your e-mail / a friend".

What was this all about? Gaynor thought while turning on her laptop. As soon as it had started she opened her e-mail. There were several new messages, but she immediately spotted one from a sender called "A Friend". She opened the e-mail and her eyes opened wide as she read:

"I have evidence your grandmother Felicia was adopted. She was your great grandfather's bastard daughter. Evidence can be destroyed or sold, everything comes with a price. I'm sure Jane Melts would be interested. Are you interested?

A Friend".

She had received an e-mail from this "A Friend" a few days back. It had been very short and only read:

"I have some interesting news about your family. Interested?

A Friend".

Gaynor had chosen to ignore it, but now she sat down on her bed. She found it hard to breathe and her heart was pumping. Good Lord, if this was anywhere near the truth. She could see the consequences, but she couldn't take them in. This had to be stopped!

She began to write an answer: "Everyone knows my grandmother was a female carbon copy of her father…"

As she wrote she realised… The fact that grandma had looked very much like her father didn't necessarily mean she was the daughter of his wife, Gaynor's great-grandmother.

She erased the message and started all over: "I'll need to see this so-called evidence, before we discuss anything further. When and where and who are you?" She pressed the send button and held her breath while waiting.

The reply came within a minute: "I'll be in touch".

Gaynor turned to her mobile again and chose the option to call the number. She was sweating as she held the phone to her ear. It connected… 'The number you have dialled cannot be reached at the moment…' There was no option to leave a message.

She had to do something! She called Directory Enquiries. It was an unregistered sim card.

What to do now? Should she talk to her mother? Only… the question had clearly been a non-discussable subject as long as her grandmother had been alive and this state of affairs had continued ever since.

Or should she handle the matter on her own? The fewer people who knew, the safer the secret was. If there was any secret at all?

Gaynor was in for a restless night…

* * *

James was seriously worried. He hadn't heard from Toby for several days now. This just wasn't like Toby!

Sometimes they didn't speak or text for a day or two, this was because both of them lived with parents and none of them had "stepped out of the closet" yet. Toby only had his mother and she was "high church" and would have died if she knew about her son's sexual preferences. James had a feeling that his parents would have very much the same reaction, if not for the same reasons…

But now it was five days since he last heard from Toby… He had tried to call him, but his mobile was switched off… He had sent several text messages, but hadn't received a receipt for a single one of them…

James had a real heartache. Toby was more than 10 years his junior, he hadn't even reached 30 yet. He was so beautiful with his blue eyes and curly blonde half-long hair. He just couldn't believe Toby was dumping him like this…

In fact, deep inside him, he was very sure that Toby wouldn't do that. That would be so unlike Toby. But then again, why this long silence..?

He was almost torn apart with agony when his mobile suddenly started to "pling" receipts for delivered messages. He waited with excitement for them to stop and when they finally did, there was a brand new message from Toby. James felt the nervous sweat dampen the shirt in his armpits when he opened the message and read:

"Sorry jimbo ive been out of touch, its been chaos w mum, explain later, the usual place 11.30? love, t"

James felt like a ton of bricks had fallen off his chest. He was still Toby's "Jimbo" and he was to meet him tonight. He almost cried from happiness when he replied:

"I've been missing you so much, of course I'll come. See you later! Love, James".

**Chapter Twelve**

Tom sat at the kitchen table, staring down into his cup of tea. He couldn't sleep.

He had been knackered when he left work, but the enthusiastic moments with Joyce later on had raised his adrenaline level and now he couldn't relax and rest. Joyce slept like a log and her slight snoring didn't make it any easier for him.

Thoughts about the double-murder made an unstructured mess in his mind. What was it all about? He had a feeling it had to have something to do with both the families, but he didn't get the feeling that anyone from the families would turn out to be the guilty party. The picture so far was anything but clear. Hopefully the forensic team would come up with something and perhaps Peterson would find something to complement it all?

Peterson, Tom thought, that cocky annoying little man. Too full of himself, that's what he was. If only Bullard had been back! With George you could bounce ideas around and he would consider them and sometimes back them up as possible and sometimes prove them wrong.

Peterson only gave you facts. He didn't acknowledge any theory that wasn't supported by facts. Of course he had never got his facts wrong, which was more than you could say about George. He made his mistakes, but Tom still preferred him over Peterson any day of the week.

Eventually Tom began to feel a bit sleepy; he'd better make use of that and head back to bed. He was to meet Peterson and Scott at 8am at the mortuary.

* * *

James closed the door carefully behind him. He walked bent double across the lawn, hoping the darkness would hide him and he let out a great sigh of relief once he was behind the large hedge. Now he was in for a 2 mile walk, but he started walking with easy steps.

Taking the car at this time of night was out of the question. It would only raise mother's suspicions, so he had excused himself to an early night, and then waited in his room for an hour before sneaking out of the house. Mother and father were sitting in the TV-room as usual, but with the volume they had on they weren't likely to be disturbed.

No, Milla was the problem. He had to pass her room on his way out. But the door had been closed and he had tip-toed as carefully as he could and now he was safe.

He took the footpath through the woods. He could hear foxes and owls making their noises in the dark night. He knew the path so well he could have walked it in his sleep by now. The path was about a mile long and would lead him to the Foddington road, where he'd walk another mile, before taking the small road which forked off, leading up to a long deserted cottage.

Outside the cottage Toby would be waiting in his car. He drove the 30 miles from Foddington, where he lived with his mother.

Toby drove a hatchback and they used to put the backseats down and spread a blanket. James couldn't wait to see Toby again, to hold him in his arms and gently let his hand slip through that lovely blonde hair of his.

He reached the narrow road. Even though his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he had to walk carefully. Large branches from the close trees hung over the road and blocked out every chink of moonlight. The road was full of bumps and stones.

When he reached the end of the road and saw the shapes of the old building, he squinted his eyes to see if Toby's car was already there. He'd parked at the usual place and with a great smile James stepped forward.

Suddenly he could hear the engine roar. Why was Toby keeping it running? He continued to move forward, careful not to stumble.

When he looked up again his eyes were blinded by the car's headlights pointing straight at him. He couldn't see anything but the bright light, but from the sound of the car he understood that it was running towards him at high speed.

James panicked. He stood as if frozen in the middle of the road as the car came roaring towards him…

At the very last moment an instinctive reaction made him throw himself sideways.

The car hit the back of his left thigh and the pain was unbearable as he hit the ground in front of some thick bushes.

He could hear the car's breaks squealing and the tyres scratching the road as it stopped. He tried to get up on his feet, but his left leg wouldn't carry him. As he heard the car door open he began to crawl in under the covering bushes.

There was no way this was Toby. The footsteps of the driver came closer. He made himself as small as possible in the shelter of the bushes and tried not to breathe. His eyes saw the contours of a person standing on the road, looking in his direction. When a torch light was lit he closed his eyes and bent his face down to his chest. He'd never been so afraid in his whole life. His heart was beating so hard, he was sure it would give him away.

The beam of light wandered and searched the ground and just as it was about to reach James it went out. Through the absolute silence he could hear the sound of another car. It was getting closer and James heard the footsteps of the driver running back to the first car, starting the engine and heading off with a flying start. Soon the second car that he had heard came past him. He heard thumping music coming out of the hifi-system. It must be the youngsters that apparently used the cottage for parties. They had disturbed him and Toby once before, but luckily they hadn't been "caught in the act" and had been able to leave without being exposed.

James lay still for what seemed like hours. When he finally dared to use the light on his digital watch he could see that he had been in the bushes for about 15 minutes. Again he tried to get to his feet. His left leg gave him terrible pain, but it worked. He could stand up and nothing seemed to be broken. James wasn't a believer but now he sent grateful thoughts to some guardian angel. Slowly he began to limp back home the way he had come.

He was scared and nervous. Once back on the main road, he jumped into the bushes at the sound of any car approaching. The walk took twice as long as usual and he had to rest his sore leg every few minutes, but when he had reached the footpath he could relax a bit and felt safer.

He got his mobile out of his pocket and dialled Toby. His mobile was switched off again. James felt sure something terrible had happened, but what could he do? One thing was for sure! He couldn't tell the police about his accident.

Accident? It wasn't an accident. The driver had clearly intended to run him over. But why? And who could bear such a grudge against him? Was it because they were gay? James had read about malicious attacks on gay people. But he and Toby were not officially gay. They'd never set foot on "the gay scene".

Going to the police would reveal it all. He couldn't do that to Toby and the more he thought of it, he didn't dare do it to himself. His mother would be a frightening enough woman to face if minor charges were to be brought against him, let alone being exposed as a homosexual.

Back at home he tiptoed up to his room. In the mirror he could see a huge bruise on his thigh, but that would improve in a few days, as would he. His conclusion was that the only thing he actually could do was – nothing. At least for a while. Then he'd try to reach Toby at work, although he had promised never to do so.

_**To be continued tomorrow…**_


	4. Part 4 Monday

**Monday**

**Chapter Thirteen**

'Well, what can you tell us Dr. Peterson?' Barnaby restrained himself to maintain a polite attitude towards Dan Peterson.

'Nothing much, really,' answered Peterson, 'it's just as I said to Sergeant Scott here yesterday.

'But surely you must have come up with something more or…'

'Must I?' Dan Peterson looked at Barnaby.

'Yes… well… what do you have then?' Barnaby asked with a dissatisfied look on his face.

'It's rather straightforward, I'd say.' Peterson wiped his bloody latex gloves on his plastic apron.

Barnaby looked at it with distaste and Scott couldn't withhold a quick smile as Peterson continued: 'The woman was stabbed once in the back and by the angle of the wound I'd say she was sitting up. Now, you know I don't like to speculate, but my guess is that she was sitting on the man, enjoying herself, so to speak.'

'Enjoying..?' Barnaby looked confused.

'As I mentioned yesterday, sir,' Scott broke in, 'we think they were having sex when they were murdered.'

'Right and now it is confirmed,' said Peterson.

Barnaby's face showed his feelings when he said: 'Oh my God, that's awful.' He went on: 'OK, so they were having sex and then what?'

'Nothing that contradicts what I told the sergeant yesterday and it is all in my report, which you will have before lunch. The woman was stabbed and then the man was stabbed, several times in his case. His wounds indicate he was lying on his back and he also has defence wounds on his arms, which should mean he had a short time in which to react after the woman had been stabbed. He died instantly once a stab went straight to his heart.'

Peterson made a short pause. 'The wounded woman is then killed by getting her head severely bashed against the headstone where she was found. The man's body was dragged over to the other grave, where his head was bashed in.' Peterson took a deep breath and continued:

'And yes, before you ask, blood traces confirm that. Estimated time of both deaths will be between 10pm and midnight. Can't get it any closer. That is all for now.' Peterson turned his back on the two detectives and began untying his apron.

'There must be something else you can tell us?' Scott could tell from Barnaby's voice that he wanted more to go on.

Peterson turned to Barnaby and said: 'No' and then left through the door. The dislike between them was in every respect quite mutual.

* * *

'Ah, there you are,' Margarita gave Joyce a big welcoming smile as she entered the warehouse they used to collect items for the sale.

'Sorry I'm a bit late,' Joyce excused herself, 'but there was an abandoned car in the middle of the road. The breakdown lorry had just arrived when I got there.'

'Not to worry,' said Margarita, 'it's not as if we're paid employees running to the time clock, is it?' She gave a short laugh.

Joyce shared the laugh and felt she really liked Margarita. She seemed such a fun person to be with. These days of collecting and selling things would be a nice break to her normal domestic life. Tom would of course have to eat some microwave dinners, as if he would mind. Time had got Joyce used to it, but sometimes she still could feel hurt that her cooking wasn't appreciated and considered up to par.

Soon the first car came to deliver things, quickly followed by another and during the morning hours there was an even flow of deliveries. Joyce and Margarita spent 3 hours just sorting and putting price tags on various items, many of which caused them to giggle speculating what use they could be to anyone. But beggars can't be choosers and one man's waste can be another man's treasure.

When they took a short break Joyce suggested: 'You know, I'd kill for a chocolate bar. Do you want one? I'll just pop down to the shop, shall I?'

'Please,' said Margarita, 'that would be so kind. I'd love one, but please do make it one without nuts for me.'

'Allergy?'

'Perhaps, just a little,' answered Margarita, 'nothing serious though, like choking to death.' She made a perfect and rather funny imitation of someone choking and Joyce couldn't help laughing. Margarita continued: 'Sometimes I don't react at all, but on occasion I can get an itching throat, so better safe than sorry, I try to avoid nuts. If they're not on a man, that is.' She winked at Joyce, who blushed like a teenager. 'I'll put some coffee on, while you're away'.

That coming from a vicar's wife. Well I'd say the church has certainly been modernized, Joyce thought as she went out of the warehouse to get her handbag from the car.

When Joyce came back from the shop she couldn't find Margarita. Then she saw the back door was open and went out. Margarita stood looking out over the small stream that ran by, while she tucked her mobile away.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude,' Joyce excused herself.

'No, no, it's quite alright,' answered Margarita, 'I was just giving my husband a call to see if he's alright.'

'Is he ill?'

'No, not really. Haven't you heard?'

'What?'

'There was a double murder here at our graveyard on Saturday night.'

'Oh, yes of course I've heard about that,' said Joyce. 'Really terrible isn't it, in a small village like this!'

'It truly is terrible. One would think one could be safe in a place like this, but apparently not. I'm afraid that it was me and Dave, that's my husband, who found the poor victims yesterday morning.' Margarita let out a deep, sad sigh.

'Poor you, how awful. Are you really sure you're up to this then? Shouldn't you be home resting?' Immediately Joyce's mother hen instincts took over.

'Really, I'm fine,' Margarita assured her, 'I have a rather pragmatic view on death. But it was a most shocking experience I must say. I don't recommend it!' She smiled wryly at Joyce.

If only you knew, thought Joyce, but she said nothing. She just gave Margarita an encouraging smile back.

Margarita went on: 'I'm afraid Dave has taken it rather bad and his he's still in quite a state. That's why I wanted to check up on him.'

'I can see why…'

'Mind you, do you think you could run this business on your own for a couple of hours this afternoon? We're supposed to be at the police station in Causton at 2 o'clock, giving our formal statements.'

'Of course,' said Joyce, 'perhaps you'll…'

Margarita interrupted: 'Do you know what, Joyce?'

'No, but I was just about to say…'

'I've seen them before!' Margarita's face told Joyce she had some really juicy gossip to come up with.

'Them?'

'The poor couple that were killed. Alexander Melts and Caitlin Ashmoore. I've seen them before… at night… in the graveyard. But I won't tell the police that. Wouldn't want to send them barking up the wrong tree.'

'But don't you think you should tell the police? It could be important.' Joyce had now swallowed the words that her husband was the detective in charge. Margarita's behaviour seemed most peculiar.

'No, it would only add more fuel to the family feud between the Melts and the Ashmoores. I don't actually know what they have been doing at the graveyard. I've just seen them walk in there, but since we found them naked yesterday it could start all sorts of rumours. You mustn't tell anyone, Joyce, promise me that.'

'No, no, of course not,' Joyce said, while she crossed her fingers behind her back. Why did Margarita tell her this, but was clearly not going to offer the information to the police? She was confused. Better cross her fingers in case she felt she had to tell Tom later.

'But I do think you should consider telling it to the police after all. From what I've heard it can be a crime to withhold information.' Joyce played purposely ignorant.

'Surely it has nothing to do with this terrible crime.' Margarita's face had a set expression. 'No, I won't tell them, not even if that dishy Sergeant Scott decides to give me a thorough interrogation.' She smiled mischievously at Joyce and seemed to be back to her normal spiteful self again.

Indeed, Joyce thought, for a vicar's wife, she seems to have a huge interest in the male population and that's got nothing to do with saving their souls.

On the other hand, she herself was married to a policeman and she preferred novels and films in which the villain was the hero. Preferably with bronzed skin, broad shoulders, a sensitive mouth and strong, but tender, hands. She smiled mischievously back at Margarita as they continued with their work.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Back at the station Scott kept a low profile. He could feel his boss wasn't in a good mood. Of course he would have wanted to get more leads out of the post mortem as well, but if there weren't any, you just had to carry on without them. No, he thought Barnaby's grim face had as much to do with the encounter with Dan Peterson.

Barnaby's office phone rang and Tom picked it up: 'DCI Barnaby.'

'Hello,' an uncertain female voice spoke, 'is this the CID?' She sounded young.

'Indeed it is,' said Barnaby, 'and who are you?'

Instead of an answer he got another question: 'Are you the officer in charge of the graveyard killings in Badger's?' The young woman still sounded very nervous.

'Yes, I am.' Tom put on his most fatherly and caring voice. 'And who do I have the pleasure of talking to?'

Scott could hear that he was calming someone nervous, another one of the DCI's many gifts. He nodded towards his phone to ask if he should pick it up and overhear the conversation. Barnaby gave him a nod back.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just not used to making this kind of call,' said the young woman, 'I'm Meg Moon, from Beauvoisin Estates.'

She went silent again and Barnaby tried to ease the conversation further: 'Beauvoisin Estates, now that's a familiar name. How is dear Ms Beauvoisin?'

'Well, actually she isn't working here anymore,' said Meg, 'she sold the agency a year ago and took early retirement. That's when I bought it. But I've kept the name, since it's such a strong brand in Midsomer.'

'Oh, so you're the owner now, are you? Excuse me for saying so, Ms Moon, but you really don't sound old enough to own an estate agency.' Barnaby went into charming mode now and Scott nodded appreciatively.

'Please, call me Meg, and flattered as I am, I'm quite old enough.' She almost giggled; that was a good sign Tom's methods were working. 'You really shouldn't let a voice over the phone trick you like that.'

'Then I'm sure you must just have reached the appropriate age,' Barnaby went on, 'so Ms Beauvoisin is retired, is she?'

'Yes, I think what made her sell was when she went out to Goodman's Land to look at a house and found the seller… hanging from the kitchen ceiling…'

'Oh dear,' said Barnaby, 'I remember that one. Suicide it was, but a rather macabre way of doing it, setting up a meeting with an estate agent and then…'

'Yes, I for sure would have passed out immediately.' Meg said, but with a light laugh. 'Ms Beauvoisin sold to me a week after and if I recall correctly I think her exact words were "I want to be able to walk into a house without expecting to find a body". So she sold up and moved to her family home on Jersey.'

'Hmm, hmm,' Barnaby murmured, 'now, why did you want to talk to me, Meg?'

'Well, you see… I really don't know if this is of any use to you…'

'Let me be the judge of that, Meg. Any information can be of importance.'

'It's just that, when I heard one of the victims was Alexander Melts, I felt perhaps I should call you…'

'How's that?'

'I met him only about two weeks ago. He came here to the agency and wanted to discuss selling Charwood Hall.'

'Oh, he did, did he?' Barnaby's forehead wrinkled as he listened. 'Now, why would he do that?'

'Well, that's what I thought as well. At first I was of course very interested at the prospect of selling an estate like that, but when I started to ask the standard questions it all became rather strange.'

'Strange… How do you mean?' asked Barnaby.

'He told me that the estate is owned by some kind of trust and when I heard that my interest cooled off at once. I told him he first had to make sure what the trust said about a sale, before we'd be interested in looking further into the matter.' She paused for quite a while.

'And..?' Barnaby rushed her.

'And he was very polite and most understanding, but I could see that my answer made him very troubled, so I asked why he wanted to sell. At first I didn't think he was going to answer, but then he quite frankly told me that his family was in serious debt and that this was the only way he could think of to get them out of it.'

Barnaby thought for a second. 'Do you have any idea why he told you this? I mean, this is rather private information.'

'I'm not sure.' Barnaby and Scott could hear Meg searching for the right words. 'But I think he just lost control for a moment and wanted to confide in someone. I'm almost sure there were tears in his eyes when he told me.'

'OK, is there anything more you can think of to tell me?'

'No, that's it. Then he left and I haven't heard from him since. I hope I haven't taken up your time without cause, Mr Barnaby?'

'Not at all, Meg. You've been most helpful and we may want to talk to you again.'

'Of course, you know where to find me.'

'We certainly do. Have a nice day!' Barnaby turned to Scott: 'Now, what do we make of that?'

'That Meg Moon sounded to me like a really pretty lady,' Scott grinned.

'I'm sure she is,' Barnaby couldn't help smiling, 'but seriously what do you think?'

'That there's more to this family than a posh surface?' answered Scott, a little uncertain what his boss was after.

'Exactly! I think it's time we paid our old friend Mr Jocelyn a visit to find out more about this trust.'

'Not me, sir,' Scott replied. 'I have the Errols coming in at 2 o'clock to leave formal statements.'

'Alright, then I'll go myself. Meanwhile you can get on to forensics and ask them to hurry up a bit, OK? What's that on your screen?'

'Beauvoisin Estate's website. Didn't I tell you she was a looker?' Scott smiled at Barnaby.

Barnaby looked at a photo on Scott's screen, showing the very pretty face of Meg Moon. 'Oh my God! Not only do you have an eye for the ladies, you have an ear as well.' He gave Scott a broad smile. 'Just don't get lost in that, remember the forensics, will you?'

'Will do!' Scott answered as Barnaby left through the door.

* * *

In his car Barnaby called Jocelyn and Jocelyn Solicitors in advance, to make sure he would get an appointment. He found a parking space just outside the old beautiful building in which the law firm had its premises.

As he stepped into the office his eyes immediately caught the young secretary behind the desk. She was devastatingly beautiful. She had long dark hair, a face like a Hollywood film star and her eyes were the most emerald green Tom ever had seen. A quick look at the name sign on her desk told him "Shannon Cleeves". No wonder Scott was eager to get dropped off at her place last night, Tom thought and smiled inside.

'Hello, I'm DCI Barnaby, Causton CID. I had an appointment with Mr Jocelyn.'

'Welcome Mr Barnaby,' she answered, 'please just wait for a second and I'll see if Mr Jocelyn is ready for you.' She lifted the receiver and got the message Barnaby could step in.

Barnaby stepped in to James Jocelyn's office, but to his great surprise he wasn't met by James Jocelyn himself. The man in the office introduced himself as Kevin Jocelyn and at the sight of Barnaby's confused face, he explained that he was the son of James and that since a few months back he was running the firm.

'Oh, I see,' said Barnaby, 'does that explain the new secretary as well?'

Kevin Jocelyn gave a warm laugh: 'It certainly does. Father was here on overtime, he should've been retired years ago and so should dear old Mrs Osbourne. So when Dad went, she went too. I think she was rather terrified that I would bring in a lot of new technology to the firm.' He smiled at Tom.

Tom looked at him and instantly liked him. He was nothing like his father, who was a short, squat man, almost a midget. Kevin Jocelyn appeared to be about 40 and was a tall, slender man. It must come from his mother, Tom thought.

'What can I do for you, Chief Inspector Barnaby?'

'Tom! Please, call me Tom.' Barnaby continued: 'I assume you have heard the news about the murders of Alexander Melts and Caitlin Ashmoore?'

'Oh yes, I have. Dreadful business.' Kevin Jocelyn shook his head.

'Yes, it is a terrible crime and as I'm sure you understand we're still in the early stages of this investigation.'

'Mmm, mmm,' Jocelyn murmured.

'At this point we cannot rule out the possibility that this is a crime aimed at both the families and from what we have learnt they and their estates are both connected in a rather strange way through some trust?' Barnaby tried to put on a look that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

'Well, one thing my father taught me was to be co-operative with the police and that you, Tom, always get the information you want, one way or the other.' Kevin Jocelyn gave his pleasant smile once again. 'So how much do you know?'

Tom started to tell the story as he had heard it from Harry, the landlord. Once he was finished he looked at Jocelyn, for him to confirm or deny the facts.

'I'd say dear old Harry has summed it up quite nicely. It is Harry Sweeney at 'The Black Boy' who's told you all this, right?'

'Yes,' admitted Barnaby with a smile.

'Well, is there anything more you need to get clarified?'

Barnaby thought for a while. 'What happens if there isn't a daughter? From what I understand that is what's about to happen in the Melts family.'

'Ah, that's a tricky one. Can't blame old Harry that he didn't know anything about that one, can we?' He smiled again, obviously amused by the situation. 'If one of the lifetime beneficiaries doesn't have a daughter of her own, she can pass the estate on to one of her sons' daughters.'

'And if there isn't a granddaughter…?' Barnaby broke in.

Kevin Jocelyn was now fiddling through some papers, which Barnaby assumed to be the documents of the Trust. After reading for a while he said: 'She can also pass it on to one of her sisters or one of her nieces, but… here is the most interesting part…that's the end of it!'

'The end… I'm afraid I don't understand…' Tom looked puzzled.

'She can't go any further afield in the family tree! A niece is the most distant relative that can become a beneficiary.'

'But what happens if…'

'…if there isn't such a relative, you mean?' Kevin Jocelyn's smile had vanished and now he looked very troubled. It was as if he could see a huge legal dispute coming up, and he would be right in the middle of it. 'If there isn't such a relative, the estate is transferred to a suitable beneficiary in the other family and then stays in that family.'

Barnaby sat silent thinking for a while, before he opened his mouth to ask something, but was interrupted by Kevin Jocelyn.

'Jane Melts had two siblings, both younger, but they both died young. The brother Brian in a car crash and the sister Alice lived a hard life as a drug addict. As far as I know no one of them left any children behind. Rihanna Ashmoore, on the other hand, has a sister and if I recall correctly there are two nieces, however… they all live in New Zealand.'

'And they're not here visiting at the moment?'

'Not that I'm aware of,' answered Jocelyn, 'but of course I'll give you their contact details and you'll be able to find out. If my memory serves me right the sister's name is Antonia… Yes, that's it. Mrs Antonia Iommi and her daughters are Toni-Marie and Lita. '

Tom's forehead wrinkled. 'It still feels like a really long shot and I can't see Caitlin's part in it. Can you think of anyone else who would have a motive to hurt both families?'

Kevin thought for a while, before he said, choosing his words carefully: 'There is one… Owen Henry, who could bear a grudge towards both the Melts and the Ashmoores. But after all these years…?'

'Tell me,' said Barnaby.

'Owen Henry was a small farmer who sharecropped a small farm on the Ashmoores' land. It was right on the border of the Melts' estate, so he also sharecropped some barns and a piece of land of theirs. It was a really tragic story. Owen Henry was just a little bit too fond of seeing the bottom of whisky bottles and his farming suffered from it. I think it was some trouble with their daughter some 30 years back that started it all. Eventually his wife left him, which didn't make things any better. After putting up with him for really far too long the Melts and the Ashmoores had to join forces to evict him from their land. I'd say that was the last time the two families co-operated to do anything.'

'When was this?'

'Oh, it must be 10 – 12 years back by now.'

'That's a long time to bear a grudge,' said Barnaby.

'Yes, it is, isn't it?' said Jocelyn, 'but Owen Henry was really upset at the time and made all sorts of threats and blamed the families for just about everything that had gone wrong in his life. He definitely threatened to kill both Howard and Arthur.'

'We'll have to take a closer look at this Owen Henry.' Barnaby was thoughtful. 'Do you know if he's still around?'

'I have absolutely no idea. I don't even know if he's still alive. If he is, he must be in his early 70's, I'd think.'

'Well, Mr Jocelyn, thank you very much for your time and your co-operation and please give my best to your father.' Barnaby rose to leave.

'My pleasure, and please, it's Kevin.' He held his hand out and Barnaby shook it, feeling he had made a new acquaintance he would gladly maintain.

On his way out Shannon lifted her head from her paperwork and said: 'Say hello to Dan for me, will you, Mr Barnaby?' She handed over a note with the Iommi family's contact details.

'Of course,' Barnaby smiled back at her, 'but I'm afraid he didn't do you justice at all when he mentioned you.'

'Oh, how's that?' Shannon looked confused.

'I think he said you were the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, but I think he should have expanded the territory.' Barnaby winked at her as he left through the door.

What an old charmer, Shannon thought, and smiled at the innocent compliment.

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Yesterday had been such a complete fiasco! Getting that soft moron James out of the house had been all too easy._

_Then I had been quite sure that he wouldn't attempt an escape. That he would just stand there in the middle of the road like a blinded rabbit, ready to be run down._

_I knew I hit him and if it hadn't been for those teenagers coming, I would have tracked him down and finished the job with the wheel spanner._

_On my way back I thought I might have killed him, but to see him in his car this morning had made it clear I had failed._

_I can't afford failures. Luckily James was the one I did not plan to kill face to face. There isn't the slightest chance he could've seen my face._

_Tonight I have to be more determined. The text message setting up tonight's meeting with Gaynor is sent and delivered._

_Outside the rain is pouring down. I let my hands be warmed by the heat from the cup of coffee. It is time to stop daydreaming now and turn back to reality._

_

* * *

_

Scott had a rather busy but unproductive afternoon at the station. During his lunch break he got one of the patrol cars to drive him out to Badger's Drift to get his own car back.

The rain was pouring down the windscreen as they entered the village. As he got out of the patrol car and into his own he looked into the graveyard and saw the white and blue plastic ribbons sagging in the rain.

What a brutal crime, he thought. Having two people killed while making love made it feel so much worse. Perhaps it was the contradiction between the ultimate acts of tenderness in combination with the ultimate act of brutality?

Back at the nick he got on the phone to forensics. They were ready to e-mail the reports from the two victims' rooms, but told Scott he'd have to wait another while for the report on Caitlin Ashmoore's laptop.

The report from the rooms, together with the crime scene report, gave them absolutely nothing they didn't already know. There were no traces at all that could give them an indication of the identity of the killer. Added to Dan Peterson's post mortem report they still gave – nothing. Time of death was pretty narrow, but without witness observations it wasn't much help. The murder weapon had been a knife, but without any significant details to speak of. A sheath knife of the type anyone who ever took a stroll in the woods owned or could buy anywhere.

Scott grunted. He was very dissatisfied. Hopefully something new would turn up in the Errols' statement.

But he was to be disappointed again. Margarita and Dave Errol turned up on time at 2 o'clock. They were pretty much in the same state as yesterday.

Margarita Errol flirted so openly that even Scott felt uncomfortable. Not that there was any need to feel this way, because Dave Errol was even more zombie-like than he had been the day before and wouldn't have noticed if they'd made love on the table. He just stared emptily in front of him and answered the questions only if Scott repeated them in a loud voice or if Margarita gave him a push.

All in all, their statements gave nothing new. They were just a repeat of what they had said yesterday.

Dan was just about to go to the coffee machine for yet another refill, when his e-mail signalled a new mail alert. He checked the inbox and it was the forensic report on Caitlin Ashmoore's laptop. Forensics had this whiz kid, with a room somewhere in the basement floor, who could crack just about everything. No passwords had yet managed to stop him. His report was, as usual, summed up in very few words. Scott sometimes wondered if he talked at all. But the content of the report was far more interesting…

Scott began to whistle a happy tune as he took part of Caitlin's e-mail correspondence. This definitely was something to go on!

By the time he reached the end of his reading, he suddenly stopped his merry whistling. Damn it! Of course there had to be a catch. He frowned with frustration, but still this clearly gave them a motive. He thought about calling the boss, but decided not to. He'd soon be back anyway.

* * *

Gaynor was not at ease. She couldn't focus on anything. She had received a text at midday, setting up a meeting for tonight. It was another phone number this time and again she had tried to trace it, but again the sim card was – unregistered.

She'd fought a short battle with herself as to whether she should talk to her mother or not. She decided not to. Partly because she wanted to involve as few people as possible and partly because she didn't want to upset her mother.

So in the end she decided to drive to Causton and do some shopping. A pleasant way to avoid her mother, who had always had the ability to "see through her" and who definitely would have spotted that something wasn't right.

She picked up her credit card and paid for yet another blouse she really didn't need.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Barnaby entered the station in a rush. He was satisfied with his visit to Jocelyn & Jocelyn. He had two leads, perhaps farfetched, but still two leads. He also had a happy feeling from the pleasant meeting with Kevin Jocelyn.

'Angel,' he said to the desk sergeant who turned up from behind the desk, 'I want you to get in contact with the police in Christchurch and ask them to check some details.'

'Right, sir,' answered Angel, 'what is it you want me to check?'

'I want you to ask them if they can make some discreet enquiries about a Mrs Antonia Iommi and her two daughters. What I want to know is if they're all at home.'

'Right, sir, I'll get right to it!'

Barnaby frowned. 'Now? I'd wait till first thing tomorrow morning if I were you.'

Now Angel looked really confused. Normally Barnaby demanded immediate action. 'I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I understand…?'

'It's Christchurch we're talking about!'

'Yes…' Angel looked, if possible, even more confused. 'Christchurch… in Dorset...?'

'No, no, not Dorset! New Zealand! And it's in the middle of the night there. First thing tomorrow will do fine,' Barnaby said as he rushed further into the CID office.

Angel felt relieved that the DCI did seem to be in a good mood. He had the greatest respect for Barnaby and knew he didn't go easy on people he thought were fools.

* * *

When Tom entered his office he was met by Scott. Barnaby could see from his face that he had something to tell, but so had he and with the right of a superior he began to recount his meeting with the solicitor.

'OK, so now we have two possible motives and also possible suspects,' Scott sounded moderately impressed. 'Only… the ones with a really strong motive are probably in New Zealand?'

'Yes I know,' Barnaby wasn't about to let himself be discouraged, 'I've asked Angel to check it out first thing in the morning.'

'This Owen Henry bloke though,' continued Scott, 'could well be around and bear a grudge, but his motive… after all these years..?'

'I know that as well,' said Barnaby, 'but we do need to find him.'

'Yes, sir, definitely,' Scott fell back in line. Better not challenge the DCI's theories too much at this point. It wasn't as if he had the case solved himself. 'Well, I've got something rather interesting from the computer bloke…'

'Speak up!' Barnaby's attention rose.

Scott made a long story short about the other reports and the interview with the Errols. Nothing new to be found there. But then he started to sum up the contents of Caitlin's laptop.

There was frequent e-mail correspondence between Caitlin and someone called "A Friend". The correspondence revealed that this "A Friend" claimed to have proof that he or she was a direct descendant of the illegitimate son of Adam Bendale.

Barnaby couldn't contain himself and broke in: 'But surely Caitlin can't have believed these assertions?'

'Please, sir, be patient. The best is yet to come.'

Scott started to describe how, indeed, Caitlin had at first been very sceptical and almost dismissed "A Friend" as a liar and troublemaker. But then came an e-mail with a picture of a necklace silver pendant. The message was that Adam Bendale had three identical necklace pendants made and gave one to each of his three children, including the illegitimate son. After this e-mail the tone in the following e-mails changed. Caitlin was obviously convinced that "A Friend" could make a legal claim for both Ashmoore House and Charwood Hall, if… the original will of Adam Bendale was found.

At first she of course leaned hard on her husband Rick, only to discover that the Ashmoore copy had probably been destroyed in a fire a long way back.

On "A Friend's" advice she then turned her attention to Alexander Melts, to get her hands on the Melts family's copy of the will.

'But I still don't see,' Barnaby broke in again, 'what was in it for Caitlin? Why would she turn against her own family and in the end risk her own wealth and fortune?' He shook his head.

'Ah,' said Scott, making a dramatic pause, 'that's a good question, sir. But you see, if Caitlin delivered the original will to "A Friend" she was to achieve the ownership of Charwood Hall and her mysterious friend would settle for Ashmoore House!'

'Hmm,' Barnaby looked very thoughtful, 'this could very well explain why Caitlin tried to enter Charwood Hall. And the lame excuses she and Alexander presented seem to show that she had him twisted round her little finger.'

He thought for another while before he continued: 'It seems she certainly knew what she was getting at… but it still doesn't explain why they both were murdered..?'

'No, sir, it doesn't and that's a hard one to understand.'

'Anyway,' Barnaby gave Scott a broad smile, 'this should mean that we can track the killer from… what is it they call it…?

'You mean the IP-address, sir,' Scott filled in.

'Yes, yes, the IP-address, that's it!' Barnaby looked like a fat cat who had just swallowed a mouse.

'I'm afraid that's the iffy part of it, sir. This IP-address was hidden behind a VPN,' sighed Scott.

Barnaby raised his eyebrows and showed both confusion and discontent: 'A V-P-what? Is that supposed to make me any the wiser or could you please use the English language?'

'Sorry, sir. A Virtual Private Network, which basically is a server somewhere in the world making your IP-address anonymous.'

'So what you're actually saying is that we can't track this "A Friend"?' Barnaby's smile was suddenly wiped from his face.

'I'm afraid so, sir. Not even our whiz kid can crack a VPN.'

'Well, can't we just get a warrant and get the information from whoever owns this server?'

'Sorry, but it can't be done! These servers are often placed in countries with laws that protect them. This particular one seems to be placed in Guatemala.'

'Guatemala…' spitting out the word Barnaby was beginning to work up a temper again. 'What in God's name is all this new technology good for? Can anyone explain that to me?'

He started muttering something about "the good old days".

'But, sir,' Scott was eager to smooth over Barnaby's anger, 'with the information you got and these e-mails, we still have new leads to work on.'

'Right you are, Scott.' Barnaby controlled himself and realised there was no one here to blame. 'I think we'll have to pay the "lovely" Mrs Melts and Mrs Ashmoore another visit. Get your jacket, Scott, and bring two pictures of the necklace pendant.'

**Chapter Seventeen**

In the car, on their way out to the hamlet of Bendale, Barnaby called Kevin Jocelyn to ask about Adam Bendale's will.

He didn't get the answer he wanted. The trust had been set up before Adam Bendale's death and the law firm at the time had had nothing to do with the execution of the will, so there was no copy of it in the files at Jocelyn & Jocelyn.

During the drive Barnaby and Scott also decided that Tom would go to Charwood Hall and take Jane Melts on, while he would drop Dan off at Ashmoore House to speak to Rihanna Ashmoore, who seemed to have a somewhat more modern attitude towards "the lower classes".

Scott used the brass knocker to draw attention. The door was slowly opened by Rihanna Ashmoore herself. While explaining his errand Scott could see an exact copy of the necklace pendant they had on picture, hanging from a necklace on Rihanna's thin chest.

She led him straight into a sitting room. Scott looked around and liked what he saw. The Ashmoores had kept a lot of lovely old furniture, but they hadn't let it stand in the way of modernisation. It was all done with great taste.

As Rihanna Ashmoore sat down in front of him and bid him to take a seat, he "took her in". She was a thin woman, close to being haggard. Her skin was wrinkled and together with a short sharp haircut and hair dyed raven black it gave her a hard look. This was underlined by her ice-blue eyes.

Before Scott had the chance to talk she offered him a cigarette. When he refused she lit one for herself. Scott decided to make this interview a short one. Smoke made him nauseated, but you really couldn't ask someone not to smoke in their own home.

In brief words he told her about the e-mails they had found in Caitlin's laptop and although he kept it short, Rihanna was already into her second cigarette before he had finished.

Even if her blue eyes kept their iciness, he could see from her body language that she reacted strongly to his story.

When she finally spoke, there was nothing ladylike about her. She was furious. 'Tha-tha-that che-che-cheap little tart! I-I-I knew she was up to no good, but this…?' She fought to keep control of her words, but couldn't quite manage to disguise the stutter.

Scott broke in to give her a chance to calm down: 'But what do you say about the relevance of what I've just told you?'

She used the pause to light another cigarette. After a deep inhale of smoke, she continued and now she had calmed herself down and went for the attack: 'It's absurd, of course. Absolute nonsense. I'm surprised Caitlin fell for it, but I guess it just proves she was not only a cheap gold-digger, she was a complete fool as well.'

'And you haven't been contacted by someone making claims to be a Bendale heir..? It sort of seems reasonable that whoever it is would contact you and Mrs Melts first.'

'Absolutely not, I would have showed such a fraud the door at once,' Rihanna spat the words out.

'But what about this?' Scott showed her the picture of the necklace pendant.

'It's a picture of my family pendant, or it could be Jane Melts' for that matter. We both have one.'

'And there isn't a third one..?' Scott let the question hang in the air.

'Look now, Sergeant Scott, there isn't a third pendant, there never has been and there never will be and there never was an illegitimate son of Adam Bendale. Don't you think I would have known if there was..?'

'But the picture..?'

'Could be a picture of mine or Jane's pendant, taken at any time… And as for the will, the original must have been gone for ages now. I know of no such original existing.' She stubbed her third cigarette out and rose from her chair. 'Now if you'll excuse me, Sergeant, this interview is over. You can see yourself out.'

She left the room with her head held high leaving Scott behind, but he could see from her shivering hands that she was really upset.

* * *

Barnaby made just about the same progress with Jane Melts. Although she was still an impressive woman, with her generous body tastefully dressed in an obviously designer-made jacket and skirt outfit, Barnaby could see that this was a woman stricken with grief.

While Barnaby told her about the e-mail correspondence Caitlin had had, she cried quietly. Once he had finished she looked at him with her tearful eyes. 'You see, Chief Inspector? I was quite right about her trying to burgle our house. Not that it really matters now… Poor Alexander…' She sobbed again.

Barnaby continued with a gentle approach. 'Do you have any thoughts about Alexander's part in their relationship?'

She looked at him and now her eyes were hard behind the tears and her voice had regained some of its strength. 'No, nothing except that the cheeky little prostitute had her wits about her in sneering at poor Alexander. And that he, even though he was my dear little boy, obviously was more of a romantic fool then I could've imagined and that in the end it cost him his life…'

She cleared her throat and continued, now obviously in command of her feelings: 'And that these utterly ridiculous assertions about an illegitimate son, a third pendant and an original will are so absurd that I am actually shocked Caitlin could be led to believe in them. I've always thought of her as a tart, but I did credit her with a certain amount of intelligence. And I am even more shocked that you find these absurd allusions worth investigating!' After this long explication she raised her chin and pursed her mouth.

Right, Barnaby thought, now we have the "good old" Mrs Melts back. He watched her thoughtfully as her body heaved from the effort. Better to leave the subject, he wouldn't get much further there. Instead he turned towards the phone call he had had from Meg Moon. In calm words he retold the conversation to Jane.

She seemed to sink back into sadness again. She held her cheeks in her hands and slowly wagged her head. 'Oh, my poor little Alexander… my poor, poor, stupid little boy…'

She caught Barnaby's gaze and straightened up from her moaning. 'Well, Chief Inspector, since I have no doubts that you will poke your nose into our family affairs, though I really can't understand why, I might as well tell you…'

She told Barnaby about the search for her lost niece and that 'yes, the fees for the private investigators had made the family's financial situation temporarily a bit strained'. But that there was really no need to worry.

'Poor Alexander must have seen some reminders to pay and quite clearly he over-reacted.' Again she was the lady of the manor when she continued: 'People nowadays seem to have lost all tact and manners, don't you think? Not long ago people of our sort…' She emphasized "our sort", 'had unlimited credit facilities everywhere, because we could always be trusted.'

Not long ago a lot of people didn't get paid either, but still they bowed for the lords and ladies, Barnaby thought, as he made his farewell and left Charwood Hall.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Gaynor drove slowly on the road along the stone wall that bordered the graveyard to the south. On this side of the graveyard, facing away from the village, there were no street lights. The heavy rain that had been falling most of the day had now turned into a light drizzle. Still the damp air and clouded sky made the darkness compact.

She was there in good time. She gave her wrist watch a quick glance. Quarter to ten. It was still 15 minutes to the meeting.

She was nervous. She couldn't make her mind up if she had anything to fear or if it was to turn out to be the cheap trick of a con-man. There were family secrets, she knew that, but nowhere near as major as this alleged proof. If it turned out to be true, of course.

She fingered the packet of cigarettes in her handbag. Gaynor didn't smoke, but on occasions, mostly parties, she could have one. Today in Causton, she had bought a packet.

She flipped up her mobile and checked the text message once again.

"The graveyard, south entrance, 10pm sharp / a friend".

The drizzle had almost stopped now and Gaynor stepped out of her car and took a cigarette out. The flash from the lighter lit her face up and she could see her own reflection in the side window of the car.

Her body twitched when the silence was broken by the agonising scream of a rabbit being caught by a fox or an owl. When the silence returned she could vaguely hear the "flop-flop" sound from the police's plastic ribbons, in the graveyard, being played with by the wind. She was glad that the murder scene was at the other end of the graveyard.

Suddenly she could hear footsteps getting closer in the dark. She turned in the direction the sounds came from. When the night walker got close enough she saw a face she recognised. She must get rid of this person. The meeting was to take place in 5 minutes. Nervously she started babbling: 'Hello, it's you out taking a walk. I just stopped the car for a quick smoke.' She took a long draft on the cigarette to underline her words. 'Don't want to smoke inside the car, you know?' She waited for some sort of reply…

* * *

'Ashmoore House,' Howard Leecham's pompous voice answered the phone.

'It's Jane, I want to talk to Rihanna…' she waited for some sort of response, but all there was, was silence.

After a long wait Howard broke the silence, his voice trembling: 'How dare you call this house, after all your absurd accusations about Caitlin? You started all this and heaven knows if you're not the guilty one as well?'

Howard was obviously not informed about the police's findings in Caitlin's computer, on the other hand nor was Arthur.

Jane could hear his heavy breathing down the line. However she was not a woman to be scared easily, least of all by Howard Leecham. She only knew him far too well from the time they had been an item in their youth. Howard was then already pompous and tried to uphold a higher status for himself than he deserved.

Since his marriage to Rihanna he had strutted around the Ashmoore estate pretending to be an important and successful farmer. Always dressed in the latest country style fashion from the expensive shops in Causton. When everyone knew that it was in reality their farmhand since 30 years back, Bill Ward, who was the real farmer and the key to their success.

Jane didn't take any lectures from Howard Leecham and replied: 'Howard, just shut it and get me Rihanna!'

She could picture to herself how Howard's blood pressure must have risen to an unhealthy level, but she didn't give a toss about that, because she also knew that when it came to real business and decisions it was Rihanna who "wore the trousers".

The phone line was silent for over a minute before Rihanna picked up the receiver and answered: 'Yes, Jane, what is it?'

She sounded calm and not at all surprised by the call.

'I gather that you too have had a visit from the police?' The usual hostility towards Rihanna was totally absent from Jane's voice.

'Yes, I have,' answered Rihanna, 'and I think things are getting too close to the knuckle.

'Indeed they are, that's why I called you. I think now's the time we have to close ranks.' To an outside listener these words would have sounded almost unbelievable. A Melts and an Ashmoore talking as if they were in any way associated!

Rihanna spoke quickly: 'Jane, I do want to assure you that I had nothing to do with what Caitlin was up to and I knew nothing about it!'

'I wouldn't dream of it. I wouldn't have called if I thought so. Sadly I'm not surprised, knowing Caitlin.' She paused and then went on: 'You know, Rihanna, I was happy when you "bought her" off me.' She gave a short sarcastic laugh. 'Even though it broke poor Alexander's heart. I thought 'he's young, he'll get over her…' only he never did… and in the end she got him anyway…'

'But she paid a high price for it, which she deserved.' Rihanna's voice held no tone of mercy. 'Now I'm the one who's got a son with a broken heart, but do believe me, Jane, I really wish you still had one too…'

'Thank you, Rihanna, I do believe you.' Jane continued: 'I'm sure the murders were only the beginning. We have to watch out now, Rihanna, and take care of our own families.

'Yes, I'm worried about Gaynor. She's been so tense. Of course it can be because of the murders, but sometimes I wonder…'

'Keep her close! Words of advice.'

'Oh, I will. Tonight she's in Causton with some friends, but I'll keep my eyes open.'

'I have my suspicions about James. He was limping very badly this morning, but when I asked about it, he said he'd fallen out of bed. Couldn't get anything more out of him, though I'm sure there is…'

'Good thing, though, we burned the will!' said Rihanna. 'Whatever we do, we must keep everyone away from that line of enquiry.'

'But how? How do we point our fingers at that maniac without revealing ourselves?' Jane Melts sounded almost scared.

'Well, not through the police, that is far too dangerous. That Barnaby is already being nosy as it is. We'll have to sort it out ourselves… in some way… we'll think of something.'

'Yes, I guess we will. Meanwhile let us stay in contact. Good night, Rihanna.'

'Good night, Jane.'

* * *

'Tom.' Joyce had her head leaning on her husband's bare chest. She liked hearing his breathing and his heart beating.

'Yes, dear,' Tom was a bit dizzy, almost falling asleep.

'Did you speak to Margarita and Dave Errol today?'

'No, dear, Scott did. I was otherwise engaged. How come?'

'Nothing really.' Joyce wanted to be sure what Margarita had said, or rather what she perhaps had not said, before she broke her trust and told Tom. She hadn't had the opportunity to ask herself, once Margarita came back from the interview. 'I just wondered what you thought she was like, but then you don't know, do you?'

'No, dear, but I'll make sure to inform you as soon as I have an opinion.' Tom's answer made it clear he wanted to go to sleep now.

* * *

Shannon let her fingers play with the hair on Dan's chest. She looked at him and really liked what she saw. He had a nice muscled body, without being pumped up. No doubt he would develop a little belly once he got older, being far too keen on beer, crisps and all sorts of fast food, but she wouldn't mind. He had kind of a hard look, but she already knew he was the kindest man, although she wouldn't want to be a captured criminal in his hands. She had no doubt that he could be really tough when required.

Oops, her mind was planning way ahead. She had only known him for a couple of weeks. They had met on two occasions, at parties held by mutual friends, before he asked her out. And the date had only been the day before yesterday. But it had been such a lovely date, so much fun. He had the most wonderful sense of humour, once he was relaxed.

So she had done what she'd never done before. She took the man home on their first date and now she was planning to keep him.

'Dan, I met you boss today.'

'Yeah, I would've thought so.'

'How old is he?'

'Not quite sure, somewhere around 55 I think. Why do you ask?'

'Well, I just thought, if you ever desert me he could be an option. He seemed a really nice man!' she teased him.

'So he would, would he?' Dan looked at her and smiled, but his smile wasn't mocking and his eyes were serious. 'Shannon Cleeves, there's no way I will desert you, now that I have found you at last. Shannon Cleeves, I think you're about to take over my heart permanently.'

When his strong arms pressed her against his warm body, she thankfully thought 'maybe I wasn't planning way ahead after all…'

* * *

When there was no response Gaynor turned her head and looked around. She hoped that "A Friend" wouldn't turn up before she got rid of this unwelcome intruder.

That's why she didn't see the night walker raise its hands, she only felt them when they reached her head. She was pushed with considerable force and she felt herself falling towards the stone wall. She had time to think 'I'm so stupid! This is the…'

The word 'killer' never reached her mind before her head hit the stones and all went numb. The impact didn't hurt. She wasn't unconscious, but her body and senses slowly stopped working. As somewhere distant she could feel the blood pouring down her cheek, out of the open wound in her head. Her mouth was getting filled with it, but she couldn't feel the taste.

Her brain was closing down and that's why she could think of nothing, when her eyes registered a hand gripping her hair to bash her head once again against the stones.

The eternal darkness opened its mouth and swallowed up Gaynor Ashmoore…

_**To be continued tomorrow…**_


	5. Part 5 Tuesday

**Tuesday**

**Chapter Nineteen**

Scott was at the station early. He was eager to get on with work, to get this murder case going somewhere. He went in to CID only to find that Barnaby was already there.

He went to the coffee machine to get his first cup and picked up Barnaby's cup on the way, for a refill.

They both sat in silence studying yesterday's reports and their own notes from the visits at Charwood Hall and Ashmoore House, when Tim Angel came in.

'Morning, sir,' Angel turned to Barnaby after a quick nod towards Scott, 'here's what I've come up with regarding Mrs Ashmoore's relatives in Christchurch…New Zealand…' He handed over some computer prints.

'Did you talk to them?' Barnaby still valued any conversations higher than whatever could come out of a computer. 'What did they have to say?'

'Well, I spoke to a Constable Hughes, who had been in contact with the family over the phone. Mrs Antonia Iommi and her eldest daughter Toni-Marie are at home. However, the younger daughter, Lita, has been away from home for months. Apparently she's out on some worldwide "walk-about", to quote Constable Hughes. And the family doesn't seem to know exactly where she is.'

'Don't they keep in touch with her? All young people of today have a mobile phone, isn't that right?' Barnaby turned to Scott for confirmation.

'Oh yes,' said Angel, 'but young Lita, 23 by the way, seems to be a little bit on the wild side. Apparently she only turns her mobile on when she feels up to it. Last they heard from her, she was in Holland and that was about two weeks ago.'

'Holland! That's not far.'

'Yes, sir, but it is Holland on the continent, not Holland in Clacton-on-Sea.' Angel grinned to assure Barnaby he'd got things right this time. 'But there's more, sir, she's got form…'

'She's got form? Now that's interesting. What have they got on her?'

'Rather interesting, really. She's been arrested twice for possession of cannabis. Got away with a fine both times. But 5 years ago she was a suspect in case of assault. Apparently a girl-fight over a boy that got out of hand and the opponent was pretty badly battered, but there wasn't enough evidence, so charges were dropped.'

'Hmm, I'd say these facts are rather interesting. What do you think Scott?' Barnaby again turned to Scott.

'Well, she definitely has a motive. If the Melts' female family line comes to an end, and the murder of Alexander seems to have assured that, she or her mother or sister could be the new proprietor of Charwood Hall.' Scott looked thoughtful when he continued: 'And then add a capacity for violence… Tim, I know it's a long shot, but could you contact the Passport Authority and check if they by any chance have a registered entrance to the UK for her?'

'I'll give it a try.'

When Angel had left the room Barnaby and Scott discussed what would be their next step. Together they decided that finding Owen Henry was priority no. 1. Barnaby had an idea as to where to begin. They should talk to Harry Sweeney. He seemed to know everything there was to know in and about Badger's Drift and its inhabitants.

But on their way to Badger's Drift they received another reason for going there. Over the radio they got the alarm that Gaynor Ashmoore's dead body had been found… sprawled over Edith Ashmoore's grave…

**Chapter Twenty**

Why? DCI Tom Barnaby thought, while he looked down at the stiff and pale corpse that once had been Gaynor Ashmoore. Why all this brutal violence towards these two families? There must be someone carrying out a personal vendetta towards them. But for what reason? Barnaby was sure that both the Melts and the Ashmoores were withholding something. But what could it be?

Barnaby was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Dan Peterson coming up beside him.

'Horrible, isn't it?' Peterson said with a nod at the body.

'Yes,' Barnaby sighed. He was so tired that he didn't even feel his usual aversion towards Dan Peterson. 'How did she die? And of course… when?' He even managed to winkle out a smile when he asked Peterson the standard question.

'I'd say 10 pm,' Peterson replied with a smug smile on his face.

Barnaby waited for him to continue with the ifs and buts. When they didn't come he said: '10 pm? Just like that? How can you be so sure?'

Peterson was still smiling. 'Normal pathological experience indicates that the death took place somewhere between 6 and 10 pm. But since it was raining yesterday and the rain stopped just before 10 o'clock, it has to be then. She isn't wet!'

He continued: 'One more thing, she wasn't killed here.'

'Where was she killed then?'

'I don't know. I've only just got here and I've only had time to examine the body and the grave. But my guess is somewhere over there.' Dan Peterson's short, chubby arm pointed along the gravel path. There were obvious tracks that something had been dragged there.

'Sir… sir!' Barnaby could hear Scott shouting and his eyes found him at the far end of the path. He was waving. 'Sir, I think you'd better come over here and bring Dr Peterson with you.'

Slowly Tom and Dr Peterson walked on the grass beside the gravel path towards Scott. When they reached the end of the graveyard they stepped outside the stone wall and looked at what Scott had to show them. The stone wall had three large blood stains.

'Of course you'll have to run your tests, Dr Peterson, but I think we can establish that Gaynor Ashmoore was killed here and then dragged over to the grave. Wouldn't you agree?' Tom looked towards Dan Peterson, who was on his knees looking for blood on the ground.

'Oh, yes,' he answered, 'I most certainly would.'

'Would it have taken much strength to drag her to the grave?' asked Scott.

'No, no,' Peterson shook his head, 'The victim was a very small woman. Almost any adult or teenager of average build could've done it.'

'So it doesn't rule out a female killer?' asked Barnaby.

'Not at all.'

'But why drag her to the grave?' Scott thought out loud. 'This place is much more sheltered. Why take the risk of exposure?'

'Hmm,' Barnaby said, 'I don't think we're dealing with a killer who wants to hide the "sensations" of the crime. This killer wants to show what he or she has done, send a message and who the recipients are is no secret either. I just wish we had some idea why.'

Tom shook his head and let out a hiss of frustration.

'Carry on with your work and fill us in on it later, will you?' He addressed this to Peterson. 'I think we've seen enough, Scott. Let's go and see the family and let's hope that this breaks their silence. They must have some idea why this is happening.'

* * *

DCI Tom Barnaby couldn't have been more wrong in his assumptions. Howard Leecham completely collapsed at the terrible news and Scott had to help him to his bed.

Rihanna Ashmoore went into some sort of semi-conscious state. She answered all their questions with as few words as possible and denied any knowledge that could lead to a motive. All the while she was staring straight ahead with an absolutely empty gaze. When questioned about Owen Henry, she just kept staring and answered that Owen Henry had no backbone at all and wouldn't be able to hurt a fly, other than getting drunk and offending it… verbally.

Rick wasn't at home. He'd gone to visit some friends in Midsomer Magna, to keep his thoughts away from the death of Caitlin.

Barnaby and Scott were not best pleased as they left Ashmoore Hall. They had three murders on their hands and really didn't know where to look next.

'Off to the Melts now, sir?' asked Scott as he sat down behind the steering wheel.

'No, let's head for the pub.' Barnaby answered grumpily.

'But, sir, shouldn't we be…'

'I know what you're thinking,' Barnaby interrupted, 'but I don't think the Melts and the Ashmoores are killing each other off. No, this is something aimed at both families. So far Owen Henry is our best lead, even if it's far-fetched, so let's find out where we can find him, shall we?'

'Right, sir,' said Scott as he started the car.

* * *

'Owen Henry, you say?' Harry Sweeney looked thoughtful. 'Oh, I know him sure enough. He was a good customer here some years back, but a bit too good, if you see what I mean?'

'Yes, we've heard he had some trouble with the drinking,' said Scott.

Barnaby filled in: 'Did he ever cause you any trouble?'

'Not really,' Harry looked almost sad, 'sometimes he'd get too drunk and started using abusive language, but when I raised my voice and told him it was time to go home, he'd leave like a wet dog with its tail between its legs.'

'Seen him lately?' Scott wondered.

'No, since he moved away from here, must be more then 10 years ago, he's popped in perhaps once a month. But for the last few months I haven't seen him at all.'

Barnaby sharpened his attention. 'Do you know where he moved from here?'

'Not exactly. I think he mentioned something about buying a cottage just outside Goodman's Land. But that was right after he had moved away from here. I don't know if he's still there or if he's moved on since then. Sorry!' Harry turned his hands out in an apologising gesture.

'Oh, you've been helpful enough, Harry. Thanks a lot! Now, let me have a pint of your excellent bitter and an orange juice for the sergeant, before we move on.'

**Chapter Twenty-one**

Agnes Olsen was working in her garden when her eyes caught Dave Errol stumbling along the street outside. He walked as if he was heavily drunk, but that thought didn't even reach Mrs Olsen's mind. In her universe vicars were the pillars of society.

'Good morning, vicar, everything alright?' she called out gently.

Dave Errol took no notice but just stumbled on.

'Mr Errol,' she called again, louder this time, 'are you alright?'

Now she got his attention. He turned his face to her and she almost got a shock. It was so pale, it was almost transparent and he looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

'Margarita,' he whispered, 'must find Margarita.' He didn't address his words to her. He just kept on mumbling them like some mantra.

Agnes walked up beside him and took his arm and placed his hand in hers. His hand was ice-cold. 'Oh dear, whatever has happened to you? Come on now, let's get inside the house and I'll make you a nice cup of tea.'

'No, no, must find Margarita!' He tried to shake her hand off, but he didn't seem to have enough strength to do so.

'Listen to me, vicar,' Agnes tried to calm him, 'if you just let me give you a cup of tea, I'll get Margarita for you. Alright?'

He gave up and started following her to the house. 'Yes, yes, that's good, tea's good.' He mumbled to himself so low she could barely hear him.

Agnes lead him into her tidy cottage, which, together with its garden, was her pride and joy in life. She placed him on the kitchen sofa and began making some tea.

'Now, what's all this about? What should I tell Margarita when I go to get her?' asked Agnes standing at the sink with her back turned to Dave.

Behind her she could hear his breathing become heavier and heavier before he burst out in tears. Through his sobs she could hear him say: 'There's been another murder.' Another sob, then came: 'Gaynor Ashmoore's been murdered in the graveyard.'

Agnes Olsen suddenly felt cold. It was terrifying. Three murders in the space of a few days. She turned her thoughts to God and asked 'whatever is happening to this world?'

She poured tea into a large mug, but before she handed it over to Dave Errol she opened a kitchen cupboard, took out a bottle and added a fair amount of the whisky she kept. For medical reasons only, of course, but this was such an occasion!

'Now you drink your tea, while I go and find Mrs Errol for you,' she said as she hurried out of the cottage.

With as long steps as her short legs could take her she walked to the village square.

When Joyce looked up from the cardboard box full of books she was unpacking at the stall, she found an anxious Agnes Olsen standing next to her.

'Hello Agnes,' she said with a smile, 'how can I help you?'

'Where's Margarita? I have to find Margarita!' The answer was abrupt and very unlike the usually so timid Agnes Olsen.

'She went over to the warehouse to get something, but look, here she comes…' Joyce hadn't even finished the sentence before Agnes had left her and was heading towards Margarita.

'Mrs Errol,' Agnes almost shouted, 'you must come at once!'

Margarita Errol raised her eyebrows and looked mockingly at Agnes. 'Really? Must I? Why this sudden need for me?'

Agnes didn't seem to take any notice. 'It's the vicar. He's at my house and he's in a terrible state.'

'Dave hasn't been feeling too well, since the weekend. Surely you understand why, but it really isn't anything to worry about. I can't just leave Joyce here all alone. Tell him I'll be home by six.' Margarita smiled reassuringly towards Agnes.

'You don't understand,' Agnes almost cried now, 'there's been another murder at the graveyard and the vicar seems terribly upset…'

Margarita took a deep breath and put her hand to her mouth. She looked shocked. Joyce felt she had to sit down, this just was too much to take in.

'Another murder? Who? Did Dave find..?' The questions flooded out of Margarita. 'Look, Joyce, would it be alright with you...? Could you manage the rest of the afternoon on your own?'

'Of course,' said Joyce, 'you go home and make sure Mr Errol's taken care of.'

* * *

Outside the pub Barnaby ordered Scott to drive back to the station.

'I thought we were going to Goodman's Land,' objected Scott.

Barnaby looked at him and said: 'We can't just go there and look by pure chance. If someone knows where he lives we would perhaps find him, but if not, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.'

He continued: 'No, we'll get back to the station and see if there's been any news from the forensics on Gaynor's clothing, her room and her phone and computer. Meanwhile we'll ask that smashing rather young PS, what's her name..? The one that's so good with computers?'

'You mean PS Collins, sir.'

'I knew you'd know it,' Barnaby smiled, 'wouldn't miss a smashing girl like her, would you? We'll ask her to search for Owen Henry's address. Should save us some time, while we have a chance to catch up on the latest.'

'Right, sir,' said Scott and rolled out of the parking space, 'I can talk to PS Collins, if you like, sir? I know her quite well.'

'I'll bet you do,' Barnaby grinned.

* * *

'You know what you have to do, don't you?' Rihanna gave her husband a demanding glare.

'Of course I do,' Howard Leecham answered in a rasping voice, 'and my God I'll do it. There won't even be anything left to feed the foxes with when I'm finished with him.' He was getting his shotgun and a box of cartridges out of the hall cupboard.

'Off you go then and make sure no one sees the gun.' Rihanna took his face and kissed him with an intensity that he thought had been lost years ago. He met her kiss, muttered a goodbye and left through the back door.

**Chapter Twenty-two**

Barnaby and Scott were at their desks in CID. They worked in silence, going through reports, statements and all other facts they had gathered so far, but the work brought them no closer to a motive and who would have such a motive.

While they were working the newest reports came in. Dr Peterson confirmed what they already knew. That Gaynor was killed against the stone wall and then dragged to the grave. Apart from that it was all disappointment. No fibres on Gaynor's clothes, no scratching under her finger nails, nothing that could give any lead to identify the killer.

The forensic report from Gaynor's room said as much…

It wasn't until the report on Gaynor's laptop and mobile came, from the computer nerd in the basement, that there was a small spark of hope.

They read the e-mails and the text messages tempting Gaynor's curiosity and finally setting up the meeting that would be her last…

Of course all the e-mails and messages were untraceable.

'Honduras this time', said Scott, going through the laptop report. 'I'm talking about the VPN being used,' he explained when he got no reaction from Barnaby.

'Hmm,' hummed Tom thoughtfully, not hearing a word Scott said, 'we definitely need to talk to Jane Melts again, to see if she's been contacted by someone willing to sell "evidence" about the Ashmoore blood line.'

Scott rose from his chair. 'Ok, sir. Off we go then?'

'No, she'll still be there tomorrow. I'm going for a sandwich, do you want one?'

'Yes, please… ham and cheese… thank you, sir.' Scott was almost shocked by the fact that Barnaby went himself and didn't send him instead.

Barnaby went for the cafeteria and as he walked out Dan could see that his boss had his "thinking face" on. The cog wheels in Barnaby's brain were working and this was a good sign. When Dan's superior officer's face had that expression, he was on to something. But there was no point in trying to drag it out of him. No, it would all come out in due time when Tom was finished with his thinking.

'Hi, Dan.'

Scott looked up at PS Collins standing at his desk. Her blue eyes glittered as she smiled at him and her long blonde pony tail brushed gently over her back as she moved her head slightly.

Her smile was of a kind that made Dan force himself to think hard of Shannon for a few seconds before he replied: 'Hi, Sandra, do you have anything for me?'

He regretted his words the second they came out.

Sandra Collins moved around the desk and as she bent over his shoulder to hand him a note, she let her heavy breasts lean on him and said: 'You know I've always got something for you, Dan.'

Dan cleared his throat. 'Right, so what's this?' He looked down at the note in front of him.

Without removing any of the pressure from her generous bosom, she whispered in his ear: 'That's Owen Henry's latest known address. Do you want mine as well… Dan?'

In the corner of his eye Dan saw the DCI entering the room again, with a sandwich in each hand, so he said quickly: 'This one will do for now. Thank you very much Sergeant Collins.'

She still smiled at him as she turned around and walked out of the CID, letting her hips sway studiously.

Barnaby just raised an eyebrow in amusement as he handed over Scott's sandwich. While eating they decided that their next stop was Owen Henry's cottage.

* * *

Howard Leecham trod carefully on the woodland leading up to Owen Henry's cottage. He held his shotgun in both hands ready to fire. He wasn't going be caught by surprise.

From the outside he peeked carefully through a window. He couldn't see anyone moving inside. He moved along the cottage wall and came up to the back door. Slowly he tried the handle and found the door unlocked. He opened it very slowly with his left hand, holding the shotgun in front of him in his right hand.

The cottage was only one big room, a small kitchen and a small bathroom. It didn't take Howard long to find out it was all empty. He cursed his bad luck. Of course the coward wasn't at home, but… he was in no hurry. He would wait for him to come back.

Howard settled himself in a comfortable rocking chair placed in a dark corner. From here he could monitor both the front door and the back door. At the same time he would be hard to see for someone coming in with daylight in the eyes.

He would have plenty of time to aim and shoot.

He thought back to that day a few months ago when Owen Henry had turned up at Ashmoore Hall. The man was in a terrible state, drunk and noisy. On the other hand that was nothing out of the ordinary for Owen Henry.

No, it was what he had said that had been upsetting.

Henry had said, with a smug smile on his face, that now he had come to claim what was rightfully his. He began to rant about how he had kept this big secret for so many years, but now it was time for the truth to come out.

The truth that he, Owen Henry, was the only living direct descendant of Adam Bendale's son.

They had refused to let Henry into the house and Rihanna had laughed at him and said that there never was any son of Adam Bendale and that he should go home, sober up and stop believing in such fairytales.

When Owen Henry opened his shirt and took out a necklace pendant identical to the one Rihanna always wore and also the one Jane Melts had, Rihanna had turned pale and began to stutter.

Howard had seen this unexpected reaction from his wife and understood that something had to be done, so he went into the house and fetched the shotgun. He had put the barrels about two inches from Owen Henry's face and told him that if he didn't leave their premises at once and made sure never to bother them again, he'd see to it that Henry's heirs got their inheritance a lot earlier than expected. Luckily nor Gaynor, Rick or Caitlin had been at home to witness this.

Owen Henry's shoulders had slouched instantly. He had begun to cry while he walked away from the house. He was nothing but a coward and Howard couldn't stand cowards. Owen Henry hadn't bothered them again… until now…

Could there be anyone else to blame for the murders of Caitlin, Alexander and Gaynor? No, it had to be Henry's work… and now he was going to put an end to Owen Henry… permanently!

Later when Howard had tried to discuss Henry's claim and if there was any truth in it, considering his wife's reaction at the sight of the pendant, he had met nothing but silence from Rihanna. She wasn't willing to discuss that con-man's bewildered fantasies with anyone and she didn't want them told to the children. No, they were simply too absurd to be recognised even with denial.

He changed position in the rocking chair to sit more comfortably. Now all Howard had to do was wait…

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Howard Leecham woke up at the sound of a car coming up to the cottage. Dazed he strained himself to think clearly. Did Owen Henry have a car? Probably not, he'd lost his driving license years ago, while still living on the estate, due to drunk driving. He tensed his hearing and heard voices, two male voices. Instantly he realised he had to get out of the cottage at once. It wouldn't be a good idea to be caught red-handed carrying a loaded shotgun

Luckily he could get from the rocking chair to the back door without getting close to the windows facing the front yard. At the very moment he passed out through the back door he heard someone knocking at the front door.

* * *

'Mr Owen,' Scott said loudly at the door as he knocked. He waited a few seconds before he tried again.

'It doesn't seem like he's at home.' Scott turned to Barnaby. 'What now, sir?'

'Is the door locked?'

Scott tried the handle, but the door stayed shut.

'Alright, go round the back. Perhaps there's a back door or an open window,' said Barnaby and added, 'I'll wait here'.

It took less than a minute before the front door opened from the inside and Scott appeared with a smile on his face.

'Don't we need a warrant for this, sir?' he asked with an innocent look.

'Of course we do,' Barnaby said as he stepped in, 'but we're only going to have a look around. We can't take anything with us and you'd better put gloves on. It wouldn't look good to have our fingerprints found here at a possible later stage…'

Scott held up hands, each one with a latex glove on. 'Did it before I touched any door handles.' He smiled at Barnaby.

Tom suppressed his surprise and thought: This boy is more cunning than I perhaps give him credit for.

They began their poking about. Tom soon focused on a small writing desk in the corner of the room. There was a laptop on the desk.

'Scott! Take a look at this and see if you can get it working.' Barnaby pointed his finger at the computer.

Scott shook his head silently behind his boss' head as he pushed the on-button. The old man and computers would never be a happy combination.

Barnaby was on his knees poking in the desk drawers when he suddenly rose up so quickly he almost hit his head on the wall shelf.

'Look at this Scott!' In his hand he held a thick black writing book and on the white label field on the cover there were three words written in a rather graceful hand: "Owen Bendale Henry".

'What..?' Scott's mouth opened but closed again as Barnaby opened the book and they began to read.

It was Owen Henry's diary. But not any diary. On the first page Owen Henry declared that this was the diary of how he was going to regain what was rightfully his, to pass it on to his beloved daughter Hannah.

This first entry was dated four months back.

Barnaby and Scott kept on reading in silence. This was too good to be true.

On the following pages Henry's diary notes told, in the same beautiful handwriting, the story about how the milk-maid, who gave birth to Adam Bendale's illegitimate son, had been bought off by his daughters, Edith and Victoria, after his death. The maid, named Bertha Higgins, had received a fair amount of money in return for the promise that she and her son moved away from Bendale for good.

They had settled in Lincolnshire where Bertha soon got married to a man called Will Henry. Bertha's son became Peter Henry.

Will Henry had shown his true nature soon after the marriage. He was an abusive and violent man that kept his wife and children in a state of terror. The money Bertha had brought into the marriage was spent on gambling, drinking and other women.

When Peter had reached the age of 17 his mother died and the reason that had kept Peter staying, protecting his mother, didn't exist anymore. He had kissed his younger siblings goodbye and promised to come back for them once he could support them and then he ran away.

Before she died Bertha had told Peter about his true origin and in due course Peter went back to claim his heritage.

At first Edith Ashmoore and Victoria Melts had met his appearance with contempt. The sight of this ragged boy making such claims almost made them put the dogs on him. It was at this point young Peter had showed them his necklace pendant.

This made the Bendale sisters more negotiable. They asked for two days to consider his situation and how they could offer to "help".

Peter had no education, but he had had the hard school of a life in poverty in which the first lesson was never to trust anyone, if you had something they wanted.

He went to the smith in Aspern Tallow, which he reckoned was far enough away from Bendale, and for the last money he owned he had an exact copy of his necklace pendant made… in tin.

When he returned to Bendale the sisters made him an offer. They told him that there wasn't any will mentioning that they had a brother, so he had no legal rights to anything. However they had taken such pity on him that they wanted to help him.

They offered him and his coming heirs a one hundred year long contract to sharecrop a cottage with a stable on Ashmoore House and some land with some barns on Charwood Hall. In return all they wanted was… his necklace pendant.

Peter Henry had slowly read the contract and when he couldn't find any hidden loopholes he had signed it and handed over the pendant… or the copy as it was.

He had struck gold for a boy of his circumstances and never intended to use the real pendant unless they were trying to set him up.

He went for his two younger siblings; later he got married and started a family. Before he died he told his oldest son his secret and gave him the pendant. He also instructed him that the pendant was to be handed down to each generation that came after him. He was the Bendale brother and his family would do just as the Bendale sisters did, only in his family they would do it the proper way, from father to son.

The Henrys farmed their acres, raised their cattle and lived on for generations. In each generation sons were born, so the secret and tradition could be carried forward.

When the sharecrop contract came up for renewal at the expiry of 100 years the Melts and Ashmoore families had long since forgotten about the original deal, which was easily explained since the pendant was never mentioned in the contract. Edith and Victoria had probably destroyed it once they got their hands on it.

Each entry in the book was signed: Owen B Henry.

Scott looked at Barnaby. 'Wow, sir, what a story! Look, we got to take this book with us to the station and…'

'We can't,' Barnaby answered, 'we don't have a warrant to remove it.'

'But sir…'

'I know I'm not usually that fussy, but to be able to use this as evidence we might have to face the legal forces of Jane Melts and Rihanna Ashmoore. They seem prepared to do anything to keep this a secret, having their children murdered, without telling us about this. Surely they must know about it…' Barnaby didn't finish the sentence.

'Can't we just give the District Judge a call?' asked Scott.

'No, she's at a conference and won't be reachable until late tonight.' Barnaby cursed himself for having been in such a hurry to get to the cottage. 'And I won't call her stand-in in Foddington. He's an old prat and won't even exonerate us for having entered the house without a warrant.' Barnaby sighed. 'We'll have to keep on reading!'

'What I really can't understand is why Owen Henry didn't use this when they forced him out?' Scott wrinkled his forehead.

'Perhaps the book will tell us?' Barnaby made a sign to the sofa. 'Come on, let's sit down and read. By the way… any luck with that computer?'

'No,' Scott grunted, 'it's password protected and I guess we can't take it with us either… Funny actually, an old geezer like Owen Henry having a top notch laptop like this…'

They sat down on the sofa and continued to read.

**Chapter Twenty-four**

_What on earth are they doing in there? What's taking them so long? On the other hand it was pure luck that it was such a nice day I had decided to go by bike instead of by car._

_Riding my bike on the road up to the cottage I had spotted that pompous fart __Howard Leecham's car parked and hidden behind some bushes. What was he doing here? The car was unlocked and I did find something useful in the car to bring with me._

_Suddenly I heard the sound of another car coming. I had to jump off my bike and throw it and myself into the bushes, all in one move. They must have entered the cottage before I found my hide-out, which has a good view, because I could see the car parked and empty in the front yard._

_I hear a noise. It comes from the bushes on the other side of the road. __Howard Leecham turns up on the road and he's carrying something. It's a shotgun!_

_He must have been scared off by the other car. What is he doing with a shotgun?_

_He'd probably been out to get me in his sights and try to scare me off. Or perhaps he had planned to use it with me as the target. It's about time I became more cautious. I am so close now to achieving my reward. __Howard walks carefully down the road, out of my line of sight. He must be heading for his car._

_I hope I don't have to wait too long before those others leave…_

_

* * *

_

Tom and Dan got their explanation. Owen Henry's father hadn't revealed the family secret until a few years after his son had been thrown out of the family home. Owen's father had been hospitalised for many years and since he and Owen had had a falling-out years before, Owen didn't visit him until he was close to dying.

The rest of the notes was Owen Henry motivating himself as to why he should do it and how he should do it, mixed with notes about how he tried to find Hannah, his long lost daughter. They could see from his writing he suffered from severe alcohol problems. Some notes were written in his beautiful old-fashioned style; others were hardly readable.

'It's almost as if he's writing to build up his own courage,' said Scott while they turned the page.

'Yes,' answered Barnaby, 'I don't think that our Mr Henry is a very brave man.'

They came to the entry describing the D-day. The day when Owen Henry finally confronted the Ashmoores. His description of the events didn't flatter himself. He had tried to get courage out of a bottle before going to Ashmoore House.

He had been threatened with a shotgun by Howard and had run off home, so afraid that every thought of confronting the Melts had been blown out of his mind.

There were stains on the page, probably tears dripping while writing, Barnaby thought.

The book continued about two weeks after the failure at Ashmoore House. Almost each day he must have been drunk, because there was no stylish hand writing anymore. In the text Henry was arguing with himself as to whether to have another go or not and described his desperate search for Hannah.

The notes stopped and the rest of the pages were empty.

'The last entry is dated six weeks ago,' Barnaby said, looking thoughtful. 'Well it seems he's changed his plan and hasn't bothered to put it in writing.'

'Yeah, I've seen a lot weaker motives for murder than this,' Scott filled in, 'we've got to take him in!'

Barnaby rose from the sofa and went back to the writing desk. Carefully he put the book back just as he had found it. Scott looked questioningly at him.

'As I said, we can't take the book with us and therefore we'd better leave things as we found them, so he won't know we're breathing down his neck. Alright?' Barnaby gave Scott an encouraging smile before he continued: 'We'll of course put the cottage under surveillance and a warrant out for his arrest. All the surrounding constabularies will be notified to keep an eye out for him.'

'Should I stay until the surveillance team arrives?' asked Scott.

'No, we need to go to Ashmoore House. It will be very interesting to hear their version of this story. Besides, Henry won't know we've been here so he won't remove any evidence.'

* * *

_Bugger! It was the police coming out of the cottage. I'd better hurry now they've gone. I must be careful. Perhaps they've left someone behind, depending on what they found?_

_There are no sounds from inside the cottage. A quick peak through the window. Oh good, it's empty._

_Now a quick move to get the book and the laptop. Without them they won't find me until I'm finished with my work. If they ever find me…_

_

* * *

_

In the car on their way to Ashmoore House Barnaby got on the phone to arrange the surveillance and to get Owen Henry's passport picture so they could get it out to all patrols.

'I'll see to that, sir,' was the answer from Tim Angel, 'by the way, sir…'

'Yes Angel, what is it? We're rather in a hurry right now,' Tom snapped.

'I thought you'd be interested to hear that I've got news from the Border Agency?'

'Alright, get on with it. What's the news?' Barnaby could here Angel making a dramatic pause. Why could this man never be direct?

'It seems that young Lita Iommi came to the UK one and a half weeks ago. She was checked by Customs and that's why it was on record. Customs told me they make more frequent controls of arrivals from Holland because of the…'

'Yes, alright, alright, Angel,' Barnaby broke off Angel's monologue, 'you don't have to give me Customs' routines. Has there been any trace of her since then?'

'No, sir,' an offended Angel answered, 'her mobile's still switched off and she hasn't been in contact with her parents. I've checked that, sir.'

'Good work Angel,' Tom said and ended the call as Scott parked outside Ashmoore House. 'Though I don't think it will be of any use for us now,' he said silently to himself.

**Chapter Twenty-five**

'Are you completely out of your mind? Are you policemen or are you vermin destined to harass innocent people?' Rihanna Ashmoore was so angry when she shouted straight at Barnaby's face that he could feel drops of saliva in the air between them.

This was Rihanna's reaction to when they'd told her the story of Owen Henry's diary.

She took breath for a few moments and then continued shouting: 'My daughter's been murdered and you come here dragging up such nonsense. This is absurd. You should be out looking for that man instead.'

'But surely, Mrs Ashmoore, you can understand why we have to ask…'

She heaved her thin body as she took in air for yet another verbal attack: 'I don't have to understand anything. All I have to understand is that a madman is on the loose killing people and instead of chasing him, you're following up the disturbed fantasies of a delirious drunk.'

'Mrs Ashmoore, don't you think his story is a little too detailed to be pure fantasy?'

'How should I know..?' Rihanna stretched her arms out in a dramatic gesture. 'How should I know what goes on in the sick mind of a murderer? There isn't a shred of truth in this twisted story you've just told me.'

'Mrs Ashmoore…'

'Don't you "Mrs Ashmoore" me anymore.' Rihanna deliberately blew her cigarette smoke in Barnaby's eyes. 'Go and save your own skin by catching this lunatic… because you can be sure I'll tell my personal friend Chief Constable Powell about this.'

Barnaby squinted and was for once quite out of control of the situation. He hadn't expected this furious attack as a response to their questions. 'Please, Mrs Ashmoore, could we have a few words with Mr Leecham… while we're here?'

'No you can't,' Rihanna said, her voice rising again, as she ushered them out through the open front door, 'because he's not at home!' The last words came as a shout as she banged the door shut in their faces.

Once alone inside Rihanna took a deep breath. This was getting too close. And where was Howard? He still hadn't returned from his trip to Owen Henry's cottage. Had the police been there before him? If so, he could still have succeeded in blowing that scumbag Henry's brains out. Or had he been there and then got scared off by the arrival of the police? If only he would come home soon.

* * *

They drove back in silence. Scott could see that his boss wasn't in a good mood. Dan's mobile phone rang. He took the call and then turned to Barnaby: 'The surveillance team is in place now, sir.'

'Good,' Tom murmured in reply, 'we'll call it a day now. I'll call the District Judge later on tonight, when available, and get a warrant to search the house ready for tomorrow.'

* * *

When Shannon came home after a late night at the office she found Dan asleep on the sofa. He was fully dressed and held a small box in his hand.

She tried to wake him up, but he was almost unconscious. She gave up, covered him with a blanket, kissed his forehead and went to bed. She really was knackered too.

* * *

'Please Tom, couldn't we just order a take-away? I'm exhausted.' Joyce stepped inside the hall and Tom could see his wife was really tired.

'Of course, love,' he said, 'what would you like?'

'Indian would do fine. Thank you, Tom.'

'Hectic day?' asked Tom looking at Joyce leaning back in her favourite armchair.

'Yes, yes…good business and I was alone all afternoon,' said Joyce and told her husband that Margarita had had to leave to take care of Dave. 'He doesn't seem to be a very strong man, the poor vicar,' she added.

'No, I spoke to him this morning and he was… sort of getting more and more absent during our conversation, so I'm not surprised,' said Tom, 'which reminds me that I still have to talk to Margarita about the murder of Gaynor Ashmoore.'

'Wouldn't be much use, I think. She didn't even know about it until Agnes came for her.'

'Still, she could have heard or seen something unusual during the night. I'll pop round your stall tomorrow and talk to her. Now, beloved wife of mine, if you lay the table I'll go and get that Indian, alright?' He gently kissed his wife on the cheek.

_**To be continued tomorrow…**_


	6. Part 6 Wednesday

**Wednesday**

**Chapter Twenty-six**

Dan woke up freezing. He looked at his wrist watch. 4.30 am. Oh, jeez, I must've fallen asleep while waiting for Shannon.

Suddenly he remembered. He looked at the floor. Good, there it was. The little box, which he had been in such a hurry to get after work yesterday.

He tip-toed into the bedroom. The faint light coming through the window was just enough) for him to make out the shape of Shannon lying there in bed. The soft curve where her thin waist continued to her hips. One of her small little feet was peeking out from between the sheets. At the sight of her beauty Dan could feel the blood pumping through heart and limb.

He undressed carefully and slid down to bed in under her top sheet and moved close to her naked body. He held the box in his hand as his other hand gently began to stroke her soft skin. It didn't take long for him to be rewarded as Shannon turned around. She pressed her breasts hard against his chest as she curled one of her long legs around his. Her mouth opened and she craved for him to kiss her…

* * *

'Good morning, sir.' Desk Sergeant Tim Angel met Barnaby with a smile. 'There's a message for you. It's a DC Bill Rondinelli at Foddington CID and he wants you to call him ASAP. He said it's urgent.' Angel handed over a note with the phone number.

Better get it over with as quickly as possible was Tom's thought as he sat down at his desk.

'Foddington CID, DC Rondinelli speaking.' The voice had a broad touch of the Foddington countryside accent.

'DCI Barnaby here, Causton CID. I was told to call you.'

'Aye, thank you for calling so quickly, sir. I've spoken to your traffic unit and it seems they took care of an abandoned car the day before yesterday and they've had some trouble getting in contact with the owner, a Mr Toby Gillen.'

'Alright,' said Barnaby getting a bit restless, 'but is this any of my business?'

'Shouldn't be, sir,' came the fast answer, 'it's just that Toby Gillen was reported missing yesterday by his mother, Mrs Ursula Gillen, and she last saw him Tuesday last week.'

'Tuesday last week…? Why didn't she report him missing earlier? Haven't anyone else missed him?'

'Seems not, sir. He lives at home with his mother and works at the parish office, but apparently he had told everyone that he would be gone from Wednesday and over the weekend. When he didn't turn up Sunday evening she thought he had stayed away one more night, but Monday evening she began worrying and when she was in contact with his office yesterday and learned that he hadn't been in for work, she called us.'

'And his mobile…?' asked Tom.

'Switched off. Look, could I come over right after lunch and perhaps get assistance from one of your officers to access the car and examine it?'

'Of course, just ask for DS Scott and he'll assist you. I'll brief him as soon as he gets in.'

'Thank you, sir. Bye!'

Tom put the receiver down and looked up at Dan Scott hurrying through the office. He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes late! That wouldn't do when they had three murders to solve, but he'd take care of that later. Right now it was more important to go through the material once again, hunting for leads.

* * *

Dan immediately recognised Bill Rondinelli as another copper when he saw him waiting at the gates to the depot for stolen and missing goods. After mutual greetings they entered the depot and began examining the car.

They looked for parking tickets, a map, meal and petrol receipts, anything that could give a hint about Toby Gillen's whereabouts.

They found nothing of value. The boot was locked but Dan got the manager of the depot to open it, without damaging the lock.

Inside the boot there was something big, thoroughly wrapped and taped in plastic. Dan went to get a knife. Carefully he cut the plastic open at one end…

The stench from the package made Dan throw himself backwards. He crouched over an empty oil barrel and before he could get himself together again his lunch came up.

DC Rondinelli came round from the other side of the car, just as Dan was straightening up again, feeling the awful taste of vomit in his mouth.

'Be careful,' Dan croaked, 'it smells like shit!'

Rondinelli held his nose and carefully pulled the hole in the plastic apart. Inside the hole he saw a blue-ish naked foot.

'I'd better call Peterson,' said Scott and lifted his mobile phone.

* * *

Tom's phone gave a loud signal and he woke up from studying Dr Peterson's reports of the three murder victims.

'Causton CID, Barnaby,' he answered.

'Hi, Tom, it's Tom.' The voice of his good friend and SOCO officer DI Tom McMartin came through.

'Tom, how are you?' said Barnaby.

'Never better, but right now I'm out at that cottage in Goodman's Land you wanted searched and… I think you'd better come out here…'

'Now? What is it?' Tom thought about the promise he'd made to himself to actually keep office hours today.

'I think we've found you a not so bonny lad,' McMartin's Scottish origin came through in his answer, 'but you'd better have a look for yourself.'

'On my way,' Barnaby ended the call as he nipped his jacket from his office chair and hurdled out of the CID.

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

In his car Tom picked up his phone and dialled Scott.

'Scott, you'd better get yourself in your car and come to Henry's cottage at once.'

'Sorry, sir. I don't think so, sir.' Scott replied and before Barnaby got to pointing out that it wasn't a question, but an order, Dan continued: 'We've found the body of Toby Gillen inside the boot of his car. Peterson's here with us now and it looks as if Gillen's been murdered.'

'Oh… right…' Barnaby tried to take in what Scott had said. 'And you know for sure it is Toby Gillen?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so. Rondinelli here was in the same class as him at school, so there's no doubt we have a positive ID.'

Barnaby had collected his thoughts and got back in the driver's seat by now: 'OK, you finish up there and then you and Rondinelli must begin to follow the tracks of Toby Gillen's last known whereabouts. I'm on my way to Henry's cottage, it seems they've found something interesting there. Make sure Peterson heads over to Goodman's Land as soon as he's finished with yours, right?'

'Will do, sir. I think he's about to get the body removed by now, so I'll tell him.'

'Good, and if it turns out late, we'll meet up at the station tomorrow. 7.45 sharp!' Barnaby's voice had a tone of steel.

'Right, sir,' answered Scott feeling the whiplash handed out for this morning's late arrival.

* * *

'Welcome, Tom.' Tom McMartin met Barnaby as he stopped his car outside Owen Henry's cottage. He held out his large hand for a greeting. Barnaby shook it while beginning to ask questions.

'One thing at a time,' McMartin laughed and held up his hands with a parrying gesture, 'do you want the good news or the bad news first?'

'Well, it's better when things can only get better, so give me the bad news first.' Barnaby smiled in reply.

'Right…there is no laptop to be found nor the book you wanted…'

'What? But that's impossible…' Barnaby frowned.

'How long between when you left the cottage and when the surveillance team was in place?'

Barnaby hissed: 'Damn! About two hours.'

'That's plenty of time to remove a laptop and a book, if you want my opinion?'

'Yes, Henry must have seen us and acted fast.'

McMartin had a peculiar look on his face: 'Naaah, I don't think so. Now on to the "sort of good" news. Follow me.' He led Barnaby around the cottage and opened the door to a wooden shed behind. They stepped in. The shed was dark and full of things. Gardening tools, two old bicycle wrecks and a large freezer.

McMartin opened the lid to the freezer and said: 'I wouldn't be surprised if you find that this is Owen Henry. He's a stiff in every sense of the word.'

Barnaby looked down into the freezer and could see the frozen body of a man. The body was fully dressed and from what Barnaby could see of his face and remember from the passport photography they had got earlier this morning, he was pretty certain it was Owen Henry. He spoke: 'Is there any chance of telling how long he's been in there?'

'No,' McMartin shook his head, 'not really. The temperature has conserved the state he was in when he was put there. Only the pathologist could give an estimate of time of death once they've defrosted and examined him.'

'Talking of pathologists, where is Peterson?' Barnaby looked around but there was still no sign of Peterson's car. He turned to McMartin again: 'What about the rest of the cottage? Have you found anything useful?'

'Too early to tell, really,' answered McMartin, 'we have lots of DNA and fingerprints, but they will only be of use if they're already on file. Once you find a suspect, we can of course run tests and perhaps get a match.'

'Any sign of anyone else living in the cottage? Bearing in mind that Mr Henry seems to have spent some time in the freezer lately.' Barnaby couldn't withhold a chuckle.

'There are at least two sets of fingerprints, but nothing else that indicates who it might have been. Sorry…'

They were interrupted by Dan Peterson's car arriving at the cottage. After a short look at the body in the freezer he shook his head: 'Well, Chief Inspector Barnaby, you and your young colleague do keep me busy.'

'Yes, I'm afraid so,' said Barnaby. He adopted a gentle approach because now they really were in the hands of Dan Peterson and they needed his results quickly. 'I know it's a lot to ask, but is there any chance you could have some preliminary results by tomorrow?'

Dan Peterson gave Barnaby a smug smile. 'Under normal circumstances – no, but since I like a late night at work once in a while I'll do my very best… and of course it helps a lot that George Bullard came back from his vacation a couple of hours ago. I've already spoken to him and we'll take on one body each tonight and hopefully we can give you something in the morning.'

'Thank you, Dan,' and Tom really meant it. This was no time for dissension within the ranks.

To beat these epidemic killings they really had to pull together with all the forces they could muster, he thought as he drove slowly homewards. The time was already after six and he felt he would need a sharp mind tomorrow.

* * *

'Oh, please Dave, why do you have to be such a wimp?' Margarita Errol cried out in frustration at her husband. 'I only want you to take me to the pub for a drink or two. Is that too much to ask?'

'Margarita, dear, you know I don't feel well. These terrible murders have really upset me…' Dave Errol's voice almost broke when mentioning the last days' dreadful events.

'I understand that, believe me I do,' said Margarita, 'and that's why it would be good for you as well. You need to get your thoughts onto something else. Lighten up for a few hours and only think of having a good time…' She looked at Dave with her most pleasing smile and adorable eyes: 'Besides, you're the vicar. You're an important part of this community and you have to be out there meeting people…'

Dave was running out of arguments. He tried: 'But not at a pub, dear, a pub is hardly God's house, is it?'

'Dave, you know very well what the bishop says, don't you? In times when less people go to church, the church needs to go and meet the people. At pubs, at local amateur dramatics and so on… It's important for this village that you show your face. So that people can feel that the church is there for them, more than in the sense of a building… Come on, Dave…'

Dave Errol knew the battle was lost, as so many times before Margarita proved she had the stronger will. 'The bishop', he murmured to himself as he began to put on his shoes, 'he's in favour of female priests as well…'

Fair enough. It was a beautiful evening and perhaps the fresh air would do him good. He'd spent the whole afternoon and evening yesterday sleeping after the shocking news of Gaynor's murder. When Margarita had got him from Mrs Olsen's house she had put him to bed and he hadn't woken up until this morning. He was feeling stronger but he could still be reduced to tears as soon as his thoughts touched the subject of these three young people's tragic deaths.

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

The pub was crowded and Harry Sweeney and his wife had a busy time behind the bar. At a corner table a large number of village youths were gathered. They laughed and shouted at each other and round after round was fetched from the bar. In the middle of the attention was, as so many times before, Ralph Appice. A young man of dubious moral standards. He always had plenty of money, but no one had ever seen him work. Rumour had it that he was into his fair bit of stealing and trading in stolen goods, but so far he hadn't been caught. And he was popular among the other youths, since he often paid for their drinks.

Dave and Margarita found a table at the quieter end of the pub. As Dave went for their drinks Margarita spotted something she liked. Standing at the bar was Pedro Butler, a local handyman in his late twenties, with a well-known reputation for being a ladies' man.

From her vantage point she had a perfect view of his most valuable asset. A tight bum in a pair of deliciously worn-out jeans. She didn't notice when Dave came back.

'Cheers, my dear,' Dave toasted her. When she didn't react he followed the direction of her gaze and understood what occupied her attention. 'Please… Margarita…' he sighed.

'Oh, sorry dear, I was just a little lost in my thoughts. Cheers!' she smiled at him.

'So I'd say,' Dave murmured.

A bit beyond Pedro Butler, Margarita could see Howard Leecham and his son Rick Ashmoore also standing at the bar.

Suddenly the noise of the crowd fell silent. Arthur Melts entered the pub and froze in the middle of the floor, staring at Howard and Rick. It was obvious that Arthur had had one or two drinks before he came in; he was swaying slightly where he stood.

'What are you two doing here?' Arthur said to no-one in particular, but clearly addressing the Ashmoores.

'Having a drink, Arthur, but there's plenty of people to mingle with, so you don't have to buy us one,' answered Howard in a mocking tone.

Arthur Melts snorted. 'Wouldn't dream of it. If you, you little git,' he pointed his finger unsteadily at Rick, 'had just been able to keep your little tart of a wife on a leash, none of this would've happened!'

Howard Leecham took one big step closer to Arthur Melts, with his fist raised: 'Now you listen to me, Melts…'

'Dad, dad, he's not worth it.' Rick Ashmoore gripped his father's arm and stopped him. 'Come on, dad, let's go home.'

Howard lowered his arm and shook Rick off. 'Never! I'll finish my drink first.'

Now Harry Sweeney broke in: 'And so you shall, Howard, but you'll do it in peace and quiet, right? And as for you, Arthur, I think my wife is ready to take your order over there.' He pointed at the other end of the bar. The fighting spirit ran out of Arthur Melts and he sloped over to get his drink.

'Please, dad, I'm going. Are you coming or not?' Rick's eyes begged his father to come with him.

'No, son, you run along. I'll have another one.'

As Rick left, so did several of the other customers, but soon the noise was at full pitch again.

'Margarita… I feel uncomfortable. Can't we go home?' Dave begged his wife.

'Dave…' answered Margarita, ready to cut him short, but at the same moment she saw Pedro Butler leaving the pub. 'OK, let's go, if that's what you want.'

Outside the pub Margarita kept her eyes on Pedro Butler's back slowly walking away. 'You know what, Dave, why don't you go home and have an early night, while I take an evening walk before bedtime? I'm really not tired yet.'

Dave who had had enough of quarrels for one day didn't put up a fight and as soon as he turned his back on her and steered homewards, Margarita began to follow in the footsteps of Pedro Butler's bottom.

* * *

_This was going to be so easy. It wasn't an expected opportunity, but now that it had appeared it was too good to miss._

_He is a responsible citizen. He never drives to the pub, he goes by bike and everyone in the village knows that. And if you go by bike and want to avoid the main road to Bendale, there's only one road to take. _

_A thick branch into the wheel would bring him down and while he's still dazed by the crash, it will be easy..._

_

* * *

_

He was angry. He was angry with himself and he was angry at Howard. They had met again later in the queue to the Gents and he hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut. It all ended up with him and Howard pushing one another around until Harry with three helpers turned up. Harry had told them that even if they were the "lords of their manors" there were limits and it was time for them to go home.

Howard was shoved out first and they had restrained Arthur to give Howard time to get out of the way. Not that he had any intention of going after Howard. It all felt quite stupid, really. He had expressed his apologies to Harry before he got on the bike and headed for Bendale. Hopefully Howard wasn't walking. He didn't want to catch up with him. If he did, he'd just increase his speed and go past him.

Suddenly Arthur felt himself being thrown up in the air and he could see the ground coming towards his face. He threw up his hands in protection and the pain was unbearable when he hit the road.

Before he could get up, he felt something heavy on his back pressing him to the ground. Someone grasped his thin hair and forced his head up. A voice whispered in his ear: 'Goodbye, Arthur, forever…'

Something sharp stung him in the side of his neck and before he could feel anything else his throat was slit and the grip loosened. He was dead as his head fell to meet the ground.

_**To be continued tomorrow…**_


	7. Part 7 Thursday

**Thursday**

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

Tom stretched his legs as he climbed out of his car. It was 7 pm and he had just parked outside the mortuary. At the news of Bullard and Peterson co-operating and hopefully having something for them, he had phoned Scott and arranged for the two of them to meet down at the mortuary at this early hour. There was no sign of Scott yet…

A door opened and George Bullard came out. He held his hand up to conceal a wide yawn. At the sight of Tom he said: 'Good morning, Tom. Come in, we've just finished.'

'Just finished?'

'Yes, Peterson and I have been here all night. It takes longer then you might imagine defrosting a human body, if you need to be careful not to destroy any evidence…'

'You must be knackered, George?'

'It's not so bad. I've had a long and restful holiday. Besides I'm going home to sleep as soon as we're finished here. I'm still officially off duty, you know?'

'Yes,' lied Tom, who never remembered when staff was off or on duty and didn't care much about it either. If they weren't out of the area, he'd call them in when needed. 'I just thought I'd wait outside for Scott; seems his newly established love-life is making him late again…'

'Scott? He's already in there and has been for the last half hour. He came by bike,' Bullard chuckled at the opportunity to disarm Tom's rising temper.

'Oh, well then…Let's go inside.'

Inside Peterson and Scott were standing next to the slab with Toby Gillen's pale body. 'I think we'll begin with this one,' said Peterson, 'and then George will tell you the story about Mr Frost.' Peterson laughed at his own joke. 'Is that OK with you, George?'

'Of course,' answered Bullard, 'carry on!'

'Well…' Peterson began lecturing, 'this poor bloke met his destiny quite straight-forwardly. He's been hit twice on the skull with what seems to be some sort of iron bar. I've found fragments of rust in the wounds, enough to make a match if we had the object in question in our possession.'

'How long has he been dead?' asked Scott.

'Well, you smelled him, didn't you?' Peterson smiled at Scott. 'Seriously, he's been dead for about a week, give or take one day at each end.'

'That fits with him being seen or heard of last Tuesday,' Barnaby said thoughtfully, 'so what you're saying is that he could have been killed somewhere between Tuesday and Thursday last week, is that right?'

Peterson confirmed this with a nod and continued: 'We're also quite sure he was covered in the plastic sheets and put in the boot of his car immediately after he was killed. Wouldn't you agree, George?'

'Yes, it seems most likely. There were too much body fluids gathered in the plastic for him to have been moved.'

'What do you make of this, Scott?' asked Barnaby.

'Well, sir, I'd say he was to meet someone and he was driving to this meeting. Then he was killed and shoved into the boot, the killer took the car and hid it or used it until the night between Sunday and Monday when it was abandoned on the road between Causton and Badger's Drift.' Scott looked content that he for once was allowed to elaborate a theory.

'Sounds reasonable,' said Barnaby, 'but who was he meeting and why was he killed and most important of all… why did the killer take the risk of keeping his car for so many days with a dead body in it..?'

'We need to check his phone records,' Scott talked as he made notes, 'the meeting could have been set up over the phone. We also need to speak to his mother and colleagues to see if he mentioned anything to them. Should I try to get Foddington CID to help us with this, sir?'

'Yes, yes, please do. We have enough on our hands here already.' Barnaby turned to Peterson. 'Were you finished with Mr Gillen?'

'Yes, it's all over to George now and if you don't mind I think I'll hit the shower and then go home to bed.' Peterson arched his back as if to signal how tired he was.

'Yes, of course, and… thanks a lot, Dan.' Barnaby's gaze told Peterson he really meant it.

As Peterson walked out, George Bullard began to talk about his overnight project, the late Mr Owen Henry. 'Now, you'll have to take into consideration that I haven't had time to run any proper tests, but my experience from a previous case with a frozen body together with what facts the literature can provide makes me guess that he's been in that freezer for five to eight weeks.'

'That's a match!' Tom thought about the last diary entry dated six weeks ago. 'Please, go on. How was he killed?'

'He wasn't!'

'What? What did you just say, George? He wasn't killed...?' Tom's face for once looked absolutely bewildered. 'Then why was he in the freezer? Suicide..?'

'Hmm, I wouldn't think so,' Bullard paused for a thought, 'he'd sure have motive for suicide… but to climb into a freezer and stay there would take enormous willpower. From what I've read in the forensic report there was nothing to prevent the freezer from being opened again, neither from the outside nor from the inside… So my best guess is that he was put there…'

'Put there? Already dead?' This is just too much.' Tom breathed out hard through his nose, making his nostrils flare. 'You said there was a motive for suicide..?'

'Yes. There are absolutely no signs of violence or poison in his blood. Nothing to indicate he was killed, but… he had cancer. Long dead brain tumours and that's what killed him. The odd thing about it is that I can't find any traces of treatment. There should be traces of chemotherapy in his organs, but so far I haven't found any and they're normally quite obvious…' George thought for a while. 'But his GP should be able to tell you about that.'

* * *

Barnaby and Scott sat down in the shade of a large oak outside the mortuary. They were trying to put the pathology reports in context with what they already knew.

Barnaby was clearly frustrated. 'This case is going nowhere but into dead ends…' He went on: 'The most likely killer turns up dead - and he's a dead end. He's been dead for the last several weeks, caused by natural causes, but put in a freezer by someone. For what reason..?'

'Unless it was suicide after all..?' wondered Scott.

'No, I don't get that feeling,' said Barnaby, 'and from what we've learnt so far about the courage of Owen Henry, I think it's safe to rule that out as an option.'

'And this other murder, Toby Gillen, is that in any way linked to the murders of the Melts and the Ashmoores?' Scott thought out loud. 'I know there's no evidence showing that, but still… I get a feeling they're connected in some way…'

Tom clapped his hands down hard on his knees and rose up. 'Right now, Scott, it seems that our "strongest scent" is a backpacking 23 year old Ashmoore niece from New Zealand with a switched off mobile. How does that sound to you?'

Scott shook his head as he rose.

'Well, I for once,' continued Tom, 'wouldn't put my money on anything coming of it, but still we'll have to follow that trail, for now…Will you get in contact with Foddington and ask for their assistance with the Gillen case? And I'll start digging for more facts about the mysterious Ms Lita Iommi.'

Before Scott could answer Barnaby's mobile phone gave a signal. Tom answered the phone and spoke briefly, then he turned to Scott: 'Believe it or not, we're going to Badger's Drift…for another murder…'

**Chapter Thirty**

'There's something wrong with this…' Tom Barnaby was thoughtful as he looked down at the dead body of Arthur Melts. The body was lying face down on the ground with the head at an unnatural angle, almost decapitated. A large hunting knife was buried in Arthur's right shoulder.

'We're dealing with a killer that so far hasn't left a single shred of evidence. No DNA, no fingerprints, no nothing… and now all of a sudden the murder weapon is left on the scene… It doesn't feel right…' Barnaby stroked his chin as he walked around the body.

'Perhaps he was disturbed or scared off by something? Or perhaps it's another killer?' Scott tried to reason.

'I had just about got my head down on the pillow…' Dan Peterson's voice came from behind. 'Now, what do we have here…' He was already in his boiler suit and now he kneeled beside the victim. 'Aouch, this is a nasty one, isn't it?' He raised his eyes to meet Barnaby's.

'Yes, it seems we're dealing with someone who kills in a frenzy,' said Tom, 'do you think you could remove the knife? We'd like to get it back to forensics for examination as quickly as possible.'

'Of course.' Dan Peterson carefully removed the knife from the wound and transferred it to Tom McMartin's waiting polythene bag. McMartin wasted no time, but got into his car and drove away immediately.

'Well, it wasn't the wound in his back that killed him, but that's pretty obvious, isn't it?' Peterson talked out loud as he examined the body. 'It's almost as if the knife was placed in his shoulder for us to find, because the wound isn't deep and the knife wasn't stuck, so it would have been no trouble to for the killer to take the knife away with him…'

'Perhaps he wants to get caught?' said Scott.

'I sincerely doubt it,' answered Barnaby, 'but it'll be interesting to find out if there are any traces on the knife.' He looked around and spotted PS Collins sitting in one of the police cars with her legs out of the door. She was as pale as a white linen sheet.

Scott had seen her as well and looked questioningly at Barnaby.

'It was her that found the body,' whispered Barnaby, 'she lives here in Badger's and was on her way to the bus stop. What's her first name..? It's Sandra, isn't it?'

Scott nodded.

'Look, Sandra, are you OK?' Tom asked gently.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' she looked up at him with a faint smile, 'I just need a few minutes…'

'Of course,' said Barnaby, 'but do you think you're up to a task later on?'

'Sure, sir,' she straightened up, 'Sir, he was at the pub yesterday. I know 'cause I was there with some friends and we were just leaving as Mr Melts came in.'

'Now, that's useful information,' Barnaby smiled encouragingly, 'anything more you can remember from the pub?'

'It was a rather normal evening at the pub, sir. Quite a lot of people actually, but nothing out of the ordinary.' Sandra thought for a second. 'Actually Mr Leecham and his son were there. They were already in the pub when Mr Melts arrived, but since I was leaving I don't know what happened when they met…'

'Good Sergeant Collins, really good. Now what I want you to do is to take that new chap… What's his name..?'

'You have to mean PC Jones, sir, PC Ben Jones.' Sandra looked in the direction of PC Jones who was struggling to keep some curious by-passers at a fair distance from the murder scene.

'Yes, that's him. Take Constable Jones with you and go out and tell the family what's happened. Can you do that?' Barnaby looked at her, wondering if she would be up to the task.

'Of course, sir, but you're the officer in charge, shouldn't you...?'

'No, Scott and I have had our conversations with Mrs Melts and we can't get anything out of her. I thought we'd perhaps try another angle…Who knows; perhaps she'll tell you something she hasn't told us? It's worth a try!'

* * *

'Now, let's see…' Harry Sweeney added another name to the list he was writing of guests at the pub the previous night. 'I think that's about everyone. Lots of people, but only regulars really.' His wife was looking over his shoulder, helping him to remember.

They had already told Barnaby and Scott about the Howard – Arthur incident. But when Scott had whistled appreciatively, Harry had told him that he really didn't consider Howard capable of anything like that. A pub fight was one thing, but murder... No! That was the decided opinion of both Harry and his wife.

He handed the list over to Barnaby.

Tom glanced through it and saw known names as well as unknown. Howard Leecham had been there, his son Rick, Arthur Melts of course, Dave and Margarita Errol, which reminded Tom that he had yet to see Margarita Errol about the night of Gaynor's murder.

'Is this everyone?' he asked Harry and his wife.

'Hold on…' Harry was thinking, 'there was this girl, I've never seen her before…' Harry paused thinking harder. 'She must have been in her twenties, redhead, good-looking girl and she had sort of a "down under" accent.'

He looked at his wife for confirmation, but she shook her head: 'I didn't notice her.'

'No, you wouldn't,' said Harry, 'she was in with all the other youngsters at Ralph Appice's table, but she came to me and asked for the loo. That's why I remember her.'

Both Barnaby's and Scott's attention was now on red alert. 'Down under, you say - would that be Australia or New Zealand?' asked Scott.

'Couldn't say,' answered Harry, 'I've never been much good with accents, but it was one of the two, of that I'm sure.'

**Chapter Thirty-one**

Barnaby walked along the pavement towards the other end of the village, where Joyce and Margarita had their market stall.

He had sent Scott off to Ralph Appice's place to search for that young unidentified woman. From Harry's description Tom felt sure that she had to be Lita Iommi. So, she was in the neighbourhood. That certainly made her more plausible as a suspect, but still… Tom had a hard time imagining a 23-year old girl as a cold-blooded killer… But one thing he had learnt was that you could never know for sure…

What would her motive be? To inherit? Then she'd have to kill the entire Ashmoore family… As long as Rick was alive he could still produce a daughter… On the other hand, wasn't that what someone was doing? Killing them all off one by one…

Tom shuddered at the thought.

But why go for the Melts family as well? Perhaps she wanted it all? The more Tom thought about it, the less he felt he knew.

He tried to clear his mind. Now he was going to talk to Margarita Errol and then he would take the car and drive out to Ashmoore Hall for a chat with Howard Leecham and Rick Ashmoore about yesterday evening's events.

From a distance Tom could see Joyce handing something over to a customer. Beside her was a blonde curvy woman that he reckoned had to be Margarita Errol. As he came closer he found that she was a rather attractive woman.

'Good day to you ladies, I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby from Causton CID.' Tom nodded at Joyce and gave her a wink while smiling at them both as he showed Margarita his badge. 'Are you Margarita Errol?'

'Yes I am,' Margarita smiled back at him.

'Good. Mrs Errol, I'd like to ask you some questions about the past few days…'

They stepped aside a bit from the stall and Tom began to ask Margarita if she had heard or seen anything unusual at all in connection to when Gaynor was killed. He also let her tell him about the visit to the pub the day before.

Margarita had nothing to contribute to the evening of Gaynor's murder and her version of Howard's and Arthur's pub brawl was very much the same as the Sweeney had described it. She also told him that she and her husband had left the pub early. Dave going home for bed and herself taking an evening stroll.

During their conversation Tom had the strange sense that he had been taken prisoner. While talking Margarita stepped closer to him, almost rubbing her body against his. He took several half steps backwards, but was eventually stopped by a wall. He kept sending glances begging to be rescued in the direction of Joyce, but she was fully occupied with serving customers and took no notice.

It was with relief he finally could say: 'Well, thank you very much Mrs Errol, you've been most helpful.'

Margarita gave him a mischievous smile as he left. Walking away from the stall he turned towards Joyce and gave her a broad smile. He was nothing but happy that Joyce's manner didn't bear the slightest resemblance to that of Margarita Errol. Her husband must have a handful…

'Well, I'm just thinking about becoming a criminal,' Margarita giggled to Joyce when she came back to the stall, 'one detective is more handsome than the other… Wouldn't mind a body search from that one… But he seemed to have his eyes more on you, I'd say, dear Joyce.' She giggled again.

'Maybe that's because he's my husband,' answered Joyce calmly.

'Your husband… Oh, I'm so sorry, Joyce, I didn't mean to…' Margarita blushed and bit her lip.

'Please, Margarita, I don't mind,' Joyce smiled reassuringly, 'I'm glad you think he's handsome. Shows I've got quite good taste, doesn't it?'

'Are you sure I haven't offended you? Actually I never took in your surname, Joyce, otherwise I would of course have made the connection.'

'I am not offended. Quite sure. Think nothing of it!'

Margarita sighed and smiled with relief at Joyce's words, but somewhere in Margarita's facial expression Joyce thought she saw a dark shadow pass, but it was gone in the twinkling of an eye and Joyce realised she must have been mistaken.

* * *

'Look, I've told ya. I haven't got a clue where she is. How many times do I have to tell ya?' Ralph Appice looked at Scott.

'Yeah, right!' said Scott finding it hard to believe the story Ralph Appice was offering. 'So, you just met her at the pub yesterday afternoon, you bought her drinks, you took her home and now she's gone…' He raised his eyebrows to show Ralph his doubts.

'Exactly! That's what I've been telling ya, except you forgot that I shag…'

'Thank you, but you can spare me those details.' Scott cut him short before Ralph could develop the subject any further.

'But she was good at it!' Ralph smiled like a child who had just had his sweets. 'And when I was woken up by you banging at my door, she was gone. No note with a goodbye or a mobile number. Nothing!'

'So she must have left sometime after you… fell asleep,' Scott looked at Ralph Appice trying to see if he was lying, 'and all you know is that her first name is Lita. Nothing more..?'

'Nothing more.' Ralph Appice nodded to underline what he had just said.

'Is it usual for you to pick up girls you don't know, bring them home and…,' Scott cleared his throat, 'without even knowing their full name?'

'It happens,' Ralph gave Scott a broad grin, 'but sometimes I end up at their place…'

Scott sighed and shook his head. He wasn't going to get anything else useful out of this man. 'Well, thank you, Mr Appice. Sorry I woke you up.'

'Think nothing of it. I'm always glad if I can be of any help to the police,' said Ralph Appice, adopting the expression of a very law-abiding citizen.

* * *

'Scott, bring a patrol car with you and get over to Ashmoore House at once,' Barnaby's voice almost shouted down the phone. 'and bring in Howard Leecham for questioning.'

'Right, sir. What's happened? What have we got on him?' asked Scott as he hurried towards his own car, parked outside the converted stable where Ralph Appice had his bedsit.

'DI McMartin just rang. They made a quick test for prints on the knife and ran them through the ones we already have from this enquiry.' Barnaby's voice slowed down. 'Howard Leecham's prints were all over the knife that murdered Arthur Melts.'

'Pheew,' Scott whistled through his teeth, 'I'd say that counts as being tied down to a murder scene. Right, sir, I'll bring him in at once. Are you coming?'

'No, we'll meet back at the station. I'll prepare so that we can have a first interview with him right after lunch.' Barnaby ended the call and headed back to Causton.

**Chapter Thirty-two**

Before Scott arrived with Howard Leecham, Sandra Collins and Ben Jones came back from their visit to Charwood Hall. They had nothing new to tell. Jane Melts had had what seemed like a nervous breakdown at the news of her husband's tragic death and James Melts had practically shoved them out of the front door.

'There you are! What's all this about? This nobody of a sergeant of yours won't tell me anything…' Howard Leecham's loud voice echoed all over the CID as he shouted at Barnaby when Scott brought him in.

'Please calm down, Mr Leecham,' Tom said, 'you're here to help us with our enquiries.'

'That's what he said,' Howard pointed his finger at Scott, 'now I demand to know why I'm here.' He inhaled and continued: 'I also demand the right to make a phone call to my dear friend Chief Constable Powell.'

At the undisguised threat and implication towards Barnaby and his rank, Tom's gaze turned to steel. 'You'll be able to make all the phone calls you want, to the archbishop of Canterbury if you wish, but first we're going to have a little chat. Understood?'

Barnaby turned to Scott and whispered: 'Put him in interview room no. 2 and get Jones to guard him. We'll let him stew there for half an hour while we have some lunch.'

Scott went over to Jones and together they led the objecting Howard Leecham away.

* * *

When Barnaby and Scott entered the interview room they could see that enforced wait and the anguish it brought on had calmed Howard Leecham's temper down a fair bit.

'Mr Leecham,' Tom began, 'I suspect you know why you're here. Isn't that so?'

Howard let out a deep sigh and capitulated. 'Yes, I know. Rihanna told me you'd been around asking questions… But I only threatened him! The shotgun wasn't even loaded!'

Scott and Barnaby exchanged a questioning glance. 'Can you please explain in a bit more detail?' Barnaby trod carefully to find out what Howard Leecham was talking about, without revealing that he didn't know.

'Well, that drunk Henry came to our house and told this ridiculous story. I could see he made my wife really upset, but he wouldn't see reason and leave… so finally I went for my shotgun, but as I said, it wasn't loaded!'

'Aaah, I see.' Barnaby had now put the pieces together. 'Well, we're interested in discussing another matter with you.'

Howard Leecham looked totally confused at this. Scott took up the polythene bag containing the knife and showed it to him. 'Is this your knife, Mr Leecham?'

Leecham now looked even more confused. 'Could be. I have one like that for fishing and hunting. Keep it in the back of my jeep. Now, really, what is this all about?' He turned his eyes to Barnaby.

Barnaby thought for a moment, but decided it best to attack Leecham while he was off balance. 'This is the knife that killed Arthur Melts… and it has your fingerprints all over it…' Barnaby allowed silence to pervade the room.

Howard Leecham looked as if he was ready to faint. He sat silent for a long while and in his eyes the two could see how his mind was working to take in what they had just said. When he finally broke the silence his voice was weak. 'Arthur's dead..?'

Barnaby looked thoughtfully at him. Howard's eyes were watering. 'We understand you had a bit of a row at the pub yesterday. Would you care to tell us about that?' Again silence took over. 'Mr Leecham… Mr Leecham…'

'Arthur's dead..?' Howard repeated. Suddenly he took control of himself and straightened his back. 'I won't say another word until my solicitor is present!'

'That is your right, Mr Leecham, but couldn't we just continue…'

'No!' Howard Leecham gave Tom a firm look.

'Right, sir,' said Scott, 'and your solicitor, would that be Kevin Jocelyn?'

'No, he's just handling the trust. Our family solicitor is Benjamin May at May, May & Woodroffe. Get him for me!'

Barnaby realised they could do nothing but put Leecham in a cell and call for his solicitor. 'Alright, Mr Leecham, PC Jones will accompany you to a cell and DS Scott will try to get in contact with Mr May.'

* * *

'Benjamin May is in court all day. He won't be able to come in until tomorrow.' Scott's voice woke Tom from his thoughts.

'You know, Scott, I don't think it's him.' Barnaby looked at Scott to catch his reaction.

'But sir, it's obvious!'

'Is it? How difficult would it be to steal a knife from someone's car?'

'Not difficult at all, sir, but…'

'I know I'm talking against the evidence, Scott,' Barnaby looked at Scott, 'but I have a hunch it isn't him. His reactions were too genuine…' He stroked his chin. 'Well, I take it we have uniform out all over the place looking for Lita Iommi, haven't we?'

'Yes, sir, I've ordered every available officer to take part in the search,' answered Scott.

'Then we'd better find ourselves something useful to do. We'll keep Mr Leecham over night and talk to him in the morning. Meanwhile we'll go over all the case files again…'

Scott sighed. 'But, sir…'

'No "but, sir" now, Scott. We'll do it the other way round. I'll go through your notes and material and you'll go through mine, to see if we've missed something. OK?'

Scott nodded.

'Then off you go and get us a large jug of coffee. We'll need it!' Tom started loading the case files up on their desks.

**Chapter Thirty-three**

'Scott!' Tom Barnaby's voice echoed in the otherwise silent CID. They were well into their third jug of coffee, going through endless pathologist and forensic reports, witness statements and plain case notes scribbled down in note-books.

'Yes, sir,' Scott looked up from the file he was studying.

'Come here and take a look.'

Scott rose from his chair and walked over to Barnaby's desk.

'What's this?' Barnaby spread Dave and Margarita Errol's printed statements in front of them.

'It's the statement I took from the Errols,' answered Scott, wondering if there was any reason to ask the obvious, 'didn't give much information as I recall.'

'No, not the statement itself, but what's this..?' Barnaby pointed at Margarita Errol's signature.

Scott looked closer and tried to read every letter, still confused as to what the purpose was. Then he saw it... The signature clearly read: _Margarita B Errol._

'Where have we seen this before?' asked Barnaby, 'I recognise it but I can't get the picture straight.'

Scott could see in his superior's eyes how tired he was. He thought for a few seconds and then he gave a surprised whistle. 'Owen Henry, sir, that's where we've seen it before…' Scott remembered he had seen that Owen Henry had written "Owen Bendale Henry" and "Owen B Henry" at numerous places in his diary. 'But what does it mean, sir?'

Scott cursed himself inside for not making the observation earlier, but when the Errols had made their statements he hadn't paid the signatures any attention at all.

'Collins… Collins…' Tom Barnaby did something so much out of his character as to shout. The effect wasn't lost. The luscious PS Sandra Collins came running to CID with her bosom bouncing and red roses on her cheeks. Before she even had time to stop at Barnaby's desk, Tom uttered his orders: 'Collins, I want you to check two birth dates and I want it done immediately. Check the birth date of Margarita Errol, the vicar's wife in Badger's Drift as you well know… The other one can be a bit trickier… It's a girl who left these parts some thirty years ago, Hannah Henry, she was Owen Henry's daughter. Can you manage that?'

'Shouldn't be a problem, sir' Sandra Collins smiled confidently.

Tom raised his eyebrows. 'Are you sure? It is thirty years ago...'

'Trust me, sir, I know how to run a query through computer archives.'

'Well, off you go then,' Barnaby said as he turned around and started looking for his mobile. He looked up at Scott and said: 'If my hunch is right, I'd better call Joyce and tell her to make excuses for an early departure.'

Scott's entire facial expression was a question mark.

'She runs a charity market stall in Badger's… together with Margarita Errol,' Barnaby explained.

* * *

Sandra Collins was concentrating hard on her computer. Margarita Errol had been easy. She was born on the 7th of July 1958.

Hannah Henry's data would be harder, but in no way impossible. She couldn't just do a search, but with all registers of birth as scanned documents she would scroll through them.

Sandra was a clever officer. She wasn't Midsomer's youngest female sergeant ever for no reason. She knew exactly on which date she should begin looking. It took less then ten minutes to find what she was looking for.

'Sir… Sir…' Sandra started calling as she rose from her chair. 'They were both born on the same date!'

Barnaby received the news with a mixture of satisfaction and fear. 'If they're not the same person… Thank you, sergeant. Make yourself and Jones ready to leave.' He pressed the buttons on his mobile phone once again. 'Come on Joyce, pick it up…' But there was no answer.

He turned to Scott: 'Right, Dan, direct all patrol units to Badger's Drift at once and they're to locate Margarita Errol and keep her under observation. No one approaches her before we get there, she is probably a mass murderer. Understood?'

'Right, sir,' said Dan as he hurried out to the control room to get the message out.

Tom Barnaby hurried towards the car park. He could hear Scott running behind to catch up with him. Tom thought of Joyce and his stomach turned to stone.

**Chapter Thirty-four**

The sun had broken through the clouds and was warming the faces of Margarita and Joyce as they turned towards it. The nice weather also had a calming effect on business so they could take a rest. Joyce was glad she had only put on a T-shirt under her jacket this morning. Perhaps she could even get a bit of a tan on her arms.

Margarita was almost dozing off when she caught sight of a police car out of the corner of her eye. It parked a hundred yards away. At first she didn't worry, but when a second police car came and parked on the opposite side of the square her attention sharpened. She waited for a few minutes, observing the police cars. No one came out of the cars. That was strange. She got the feeling they were watching her and when a third car rolled in her suspicions were confirmed. Finally it was coming to an end…

But she still had things left to do!

'Joyce, perhaps we should take this opportunity to go through some of the new boxes in the warehouse?' She smiled pleasantly towards Joyce. 'There isn't a customer around, so... What do you say?'

Inside Joyce groaned. She wanted to stay in the warm sunshine, but she knew Margarita was right. They had lots of new stuff to sort and put price tags on.

'Of course,' she said as she stood up and walked towards the warehouse. Margarita followed a few steps behind her.

When they entered through the doorway Joyce screwed up her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She walked up to one of the boxes and opened it. She was just about to reach for a blanket in the box when she felt something land on her shoulders. Before she realised what was happening a noose was strung around her neck and a sharp twitch made her fall. Joyce fell down hard on the wooden floor and she had no chance to get up before Margarita was over her. She could feel Margarita's knees in her back as they pressed her to the floor.

'Margar…' Joyce tried to call out, but her words were silenced by another hard twitch on the rope around her neck. The only thing coming out was a painful groan.

Margarita twisted Joyce's arms behind her back and tied them together with a leather belt. She also gagged her mouth before she forced Joyce up on her feet again.

'Joyce, I'm so sorry it had to come to this. It's nothing personal, I really do like you!' Margarita spoke gently and smiled at Joyce as she spoke.

Joyce couldn't believe what she just heard and understood the smile even less. This woman must be out of her mind. In the distance she could hear her mobile ringing in the pocket of her jacket, hanging at the opposite end of the warehouse.

* * *

Tom was sweating as Scott threw the car around the last bend before they rolled into Badger's Drift. The patrol car with PS Collins and PC Jones in it was right behind them.

He was desperately trying to reach Joyce on her mobile, but so far without success.

Scott slowed down and stopped beside one of the patrol cars that were already there. Carefully they got out of the car. Barnaby looked desperately across the square towards the stall, but he couldn't catch sight of Joyce. The uniformed officer in the car rolled the side window down.

'Have you seen them?' asked Scott.

'Yes, they went into the warehouse a few minutes ago and they're still in there.'

'OK.' Scott looked towards the building. Behind it the river was flowing, so there were only three sides of the building to cover for escape routes. Scott signalled to all the officers in the cars to get out and gather round him. He instructed the teams to cover one side each and then he turned to Sandra Collins and Ben Jones: 'I want you to get close to the warehouse and look for a backdoor. Are you up for it?'

When both Collins and Jones nodded he continued: 'If it's safe you try to carefully enter the building, but only if you can do it undiscovered. OK? We're dealing with a very dangerous person that possibly has Mrs Barnaby as a hostage.' He deliberately lowered his voice to keep Tom from hearing.

'Off you go!'

The uniformed teams carefully began walking towards their positions. Scott turned to Barnaby: 'Sir, we will go in through the front door… or I could take another officer with me?'

He looked at the two remaining officers and they both nodded to confirm they were ready.

'Don't be ridiculous, Scott.' Tom Barnaby shook off his anxiety and within a second he was again in command of the situation. 'Let's go,' he said to Scott, 'and you two follow us and cover the entrance once we get inside.' The last words were addressed to the two uniformed officers.

* * *

Carefully Scott pushed the wooden door open. They slipped in making as little noise as possible, but to no purpose. Once inside they looked across the large open space of the warehouse and immediately saw a scene that made the blood freeze in their veins.

Joyce was standing on a stepladder. Her mouth was gagged and her hands tied behind her back. Around her neck was a noose and the rope was tied around a ceiling beam. There was no doubt that if Joyce fell, or if the stepladder was pushed, she would hang…

Beside the stepladder stood Margarita Errol. She held the stepladder in the tight grip of her left hand.

When she spotted Barnaby and Scott she gave a brief lugubrious smile before she spoke: 'Not a step closer! Do you hear me? Not a step a closer or I will…'

She rattled the stepladder. Her voice was harsh and gave no impression that she would hesitate for one second to fulfil her unspoken threat.

A mumble of panic came from Joyce and Tom could see the fear flooding out of her eyes.

'Please, Mrs Errol… Margarita…' He spoke softly. 'We've got the warehouse surrounded. Don't make things worse…'

Tom tried to catch her eye to appeal for mercy for his Joyce.

When Margarita met his gaze her eyes were cold. 'It can hardly get any worse, can it? Will it make any difference if it's five or six deaths? I don't think so…' She went silent for a moment. 'But it's all their fault, really! None of this would have happened if they had just done the right thing…' Suddenly Margarita looked sad.

'And what would that be?' asked Tom in his most gentle tone.

'They should have listened to my father. Instead they drove him to an early death. But now they'll have to pay!'

'Listen, Margarita…'

'Shut up!' Margarita screamed out the words. She pointed her finger at Tom: 'I want you to get Jane Melts and Rihanna Ashmoore here. I want them here so they can kneel in front of me and give me their excuses!'

'Margarita,' Tom tried, 'I hardly think that will be possible, why…'

'You will make it happen,' Margarita spat the words out, 'or else…' She rattled the stepladder again and Joyce moved her feet in terror lest she fall.

'Alright… alright…' Tom breathed heavily. 'Scott, you go to…'

'No!' The scream echoed in the large warehouse. 'You go, Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby, and you make sure to get them, unless you want to become a widower.'

Margarita Errol suddenly turned calm and said gently: 'I'm sorry, Tom, I really don't want to do this, but surely you can see I have no choice..?'

Tom looked at the woman's face. It felt like hours passing by, though it must have been a question of seconds. She was obviously completely mad and although he could hardly bear the thought of leaving Joyce behind, he realised he had to follow her instructions. He didn't dare consider the consequences otherwise…

He moved his eyes to Joyce. He trembled inside when he saw the fear coming from Joyce's eyes. Tom swallowed hard…

Scott kept gazing steadily at Margarita, following every move she made. But in the back of the warehouse he thought he saw something. For a moment he diverted his eyes and saw Sandra Collins hunker down behind some boxes. She was less then 3 metres behind Margarita.

He estimated his own distance to be about 5 metres away.

He searched eye contact with Sandra and got it. He knew Sandra was a very fit young lady, not only from admiring her slender body, but from numerous games of badminton, where she and PS Ron Daisley were one of the mixed couples he and his partner used to meet.

He held two of his fingers pointing down like a pair of legs. Very carefully he let his other hand make a symbolic jump and take a grip around the two fingers. Sandra nodded that she had understood.

Scott tensed every muscle in his body.

'Margarita,' Tom was almost whispering now and his face was all pale, 'please don't hurt Joyce. I'll go for them now…'

As Tom turned around ready to walk out of the warehouse Scott gave him a hard push. Tom fell with a loud crash into some empty boxes.

Margarita was distracted by Tom's fall and for a second she let go of the stepladder. At the same moment Scott shouted: 'Now!' and threw himself towards Joyce and Margarita. Margarita reacted by turning towards Scott and didn't see Sandra Collins spring up from behind her shelter, throwing herself at Margarita's knees. The tackle was perfect and Margarita fell, but her arm flew out, pushing the stepladder and taking it with her in the fall…

Dan had the advantage of having given the call… It was just enough to compensate for his greater distance and his arms caught Joyce's falling body one millisecond before the rope was fully stretched and the noose did its terrible deed…

He held Joyce as hard as he could so as not to lose his grip and gave a muffled call for help with his face pressed hard against Joyce's back.

Sandra struggled with Margarita to get her hand-cuffed. Though Sandra was stronger, Margarita fought with the rage of a captured animal…

Tom got to his feet and didn't give himself time to think about what was happening. He rushed towards Dan and Joyce. He raised the stepladder and climbed up and could finally reach high enough to loosen the noose and pull it over Joyce's head…

Slowly Dan put Joyce down on the floor and held her long enough for Tom to get down and take her in his arms. Then Dan rushed over to Sandra and together they got Margarita hand-cuffed. Now the officers from outside came running in and soon they led Margarita Errol out to the waiting patrol car.

Scott turned around. He swallowed hard a few times and thought of Shannon, when he saw his boss sitting on the floor, holding his still tied-up wife in his arms. Joyce had fainted and Tom gently stroked her hair as tears made their way down his cheeks.

He looked up at Scott and his mouth formed the words "Thank you" but the sound couldn't get past his lips…

**Chapter Thirty-five**

It was late Thursday evening. Joyce was resting at home. Once she had regained consciousness she wouldn't hear of going to the hospital. A few large glasses of red wine and Cully being called in to look after her would do just the trick, she had ensured Tom, who had had to drive back to the station.

Now in one of the interview rooms, Tom and Scott sat opposite Margarita Errol and Kevin Jocelyn, who had been appointed as her public defender.

'Could you please state your full name for the record?' Tom said, making sure the recording equipment was working.

Margarita cleared her throat before she answered: 'Hannah Margaret Bendale Errol. But I've used Margarita instead of Margaret since I was a teenager and of course I'm married to Errol. Henry is my maiden name.'

Scott wrinkled his forehead. 'You say your name is Bendale. How's that?'

Margarita looked at Scott and said: 'Because I am a Bendale!' She said it as if she was giving him a reprimand.

Tom, anxious to keep Margarita in the surprisingly good and calm mood she had been in since being locked up in one of the cells, broke in: 'I think there's a lot to tell here. Couldn't you just tell us your story from the beginning? Then we'll ask questions along the way, if that's alright with you?' He spoke to Margarita, but turned his eyes to Kevin Jocelyn, seeking approval for this structure of the interview.

The solicitor nodded.

Tom continued: 'Let's just first establish some facts. Do you, Margarita Errol, admit to killing Alexander Melts, Caitlin Ashmoore, Gaynor Ashmoore and Arthur Melts?'

'Yes, of course I do,' Margarita said smiling at Barnaby.

He shivered but restrained himself to keep a professional attitude towards the woman, who just a few hours earlier had threatened the life of his wife.

'I also tried to kill James Melts. Didn't you know that?' She looked at him with the expectant look of a schoolchild seeking the teacher's approval.

Barnaby and Scott exchanged glances. Another secret kept from them by the Melts in this investigation.

'No, actually we didn't know that.'

Kevin Jocelyn leaned over and whispered something in Margarita's ear. Her reaction was to look at him and speak out loud: 'Nonsense! I want them to know. I'm going to tell them everything because I want all the evil means of the Melts and Ashmoore families put on record. The world has a right to know!'

Kevin Jocelyn silently shook his head, but signalled towards the detectives to continue.

'Did you also kill Toby Gillen?' Scott threw in by chance.

'Yes, I did.' Margarita looked sad.

'Why?' asked Scott, looking confused that his wild guess had been a hit.

'It was necessary you see. I didn't mean to harm the boy, but he put up such a fight I had to.' Again the sadness was showing in her face.

'Necessary for what?' Barnaby couldn't see the reason.

'To set up the trap for James Melts, of course,' Margarita answered, making a gesture with her hands as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, 'he was James' lover and that's why I needed his mobile phone and his car.'

Again Tom and Dan looked at each other, before Tom said: 'Now we've established those facts, perhaps you'd care to tell us everything from the beginning?'

* * *

Margarita began to tell her story.

'We moved here just a few months ago,' said Margarita, 'It was a strange feeling to come back. I haven't been here since I left 30 years ago.'

'But… didn't someone recognise you?' asked Barnaby.

Margarita gave a laugh. 'You should've seen me back then, Inspector. I was all skin and bones and had dark, straight hair.' She smiled as she let her hand slip along her hip. 'The curves came after I gave birth,' she now moved her hand to pick up a curl of her hair, 'and this isn't quite genuine. Neither the colour nor the curls. But it suits me though, don't you think?' She turned to Scott as if she expected a compliment.

'Why did you leave Midsomer in the first place?' asked Scott.

She took a sip from her coffee. 'In 1974 I was 17 years old and became pregnant. The father was Jane Melts' younger brother Brian with whom I was deeply in love.' Margarita's eyes turned to the ceiling and a dreamy look came over her face. 'I was convinced that we would settle down and start a family together… but then my whole world was torn apart when Brian was killed in a car crash three months into my pregnancy.' She cleared her throat.

'When the pregnancy was well advanced and I could no longer keep it a secret I had to tell my parents. My father was absolutely unforgiving and showed me the door and my mother didn't have the strength to stand up to my father… I could never quite forgive her for that…'

'So you left Midsomer?' asked Scott.

'No, not at once,' she answered, 'I contacted Jane Melts and she was most understanding…'

'She was?' Barnaby found it hard to believe.

'Yes, she arranged accommodation for me at a private nursing home run by nuns in Foddington and I went there to have the baby. I asked her of course if she would help me keep the child, but she always answered "One thing at a time, we'll see…". But she used to smile so encouragingly that I really believed she would let me and the child come to live at Charwood Hall… I was to learn different…' Margarita gave a bitter smile.

'On January 17 my baby boy was born. They took him away immediately. I never saw him again…' Tears were beginning to start from Margarita's eyes and she sobbed helplessly.

Tom offered her his handkerchief. 'Please, Mrs Errol, do continue… when you're ready…'

Margarita blew her nose loudly. 'I asked for him of course, but I didn't get any answers. I asked if I could call Mrs Melts, but soon I realised that she already had been in contact with the nursing home when one of the younger nuns let slip that Jane Melts had ordered the baby to be adopted once she had learnt it was a boy.'

She paused and blew her nose again.

'I left Foddington a few days later, still confused, but still unable to get in contact with Jane Melts. I was devastated…but now of course I understand why a baby boy was of no interest to her…'

For a moment Barnaby felt compassion for Margarita Errol, but then he saw the terrible picture of Joyce hanging in front of him and he urged her to go on.

'I went up north, met Dave and got married. Nothing much happened until a few months ago when I heard that the Badger's Drift's parish was vacant. I felt it was time to go back and make up with the past and to cut a long story short I ordered Dave to apply. He's never had much ambition, you see…' She smiled again.

Barnaby looked confused. 'Doesn't your husband know you're from these parts?'

'No, no,' Margarita giggled, 'he thinks I'm from Doncaster.'

'At first when I came here I was ambivalent about whether to call on my father or not. I was still very hurt about what he did to me, but at the same time he was my father… So I found out where he lived and spent a lot of time thinking about whether to pay him a visit… or not.'

'How about your mother?' Scott was intrigued by this fascinating story.

'Haa, my mother… if that's what one would call her…' Margarita sobbed again. 'I had kept her updated through letters with what was happening in my life, but I never received any response until one day when I got a letter in the mail saying she had met "the most wonderful man" and now she was leaving both the country and my father… Never heard from her since…' Margarita moved in her chair. 'Could we take a break?' she asked, 'I need to use the ladies' room.'

'Of course,' said Barnaby, 'Sergeant Collins will take you.'

When Margarita had left the room Scott asked Barnaby: 'I need to check something out, sir. Is it OK if I leave you to continue without me?'

'What is it?' asked Barnaby.

'Better not say until I've checked it,' answered Scott and left.

* * *

'When I at last got round to visiting my father, I found him dead… and I also found his diary and for the first time I realised my father's rage when I became pregnant. I also understood the deceitful behaviour of Jane Melts. And on top of this the Ashmoores' treatment of my father when he only tried to claim what was rightfully his… ours…'

Margarita's face was turning red with anger as she spoke.

'There and then I made a decision! I would take revenge on my father, I would take back what was mine and I would find my son and pass it on to him. Once the decision was made, the rest was easy…'

'How do you mean easy?' Barnaby looked at her.

'I realised of course that I couldn't reveal my true identity. It was better to let them believe my father was still active. I took his necklace and put him in the freezer. Not with an easy heart, but it was necessary!' Margarita spoke in a loud voice as if to convince herself. 'I bought a laptop, a mobile phone and unregistered sim cards and used my father's cottage as "base camp".'

'I was convinced there had to be documents,' she continued, 'old families like that usually always save things connected with their family history. From gossip and sitting in the Beaver Project Committee I thought I had a pretty clear picture of what Caitlin Ashmoore was all about… A greedy little tart… She was easy to convince to begin an affair with Alexander Melts. Of course with the purpose of searching for the original will in both houses.'

'But then I don't understand why you killed her?' Barnaby still didn't get the picture and the motive.

Margarita sighed. 'One night about two weeks ago I was taking an evening walk. Suddenly I spotted something odd. Rihanna Ashmoore was standing in the dark, waiting for someone. I took shelter behind some bushes. Then Jane Melts entered the scene. I was close enough to see and hear what they were doing…'

'And… what was that?' asked Barnaby curiously.

'They burned the remaining copy of the original will… the original will in which my ancestor's right to inheritance was stated…' Margarita clenched her fists on the table.

'I realised that now there was no way I could ever support a legal claim. They had to pay in other ways. They had taken my baby and my father away from me… Now I would take something away from them…' She smiled at Tom, looking for understanding.

Tom shuddered at her twisted smile.

'Of course I had to begin with Caitlin, she was the closest lead to me and since I knew she and Alexander was having it away in the graveyard, why not do them both?' Again Margarita gave a dazzling smile while describing her morbid deeds.

'And then when I thought about sending the message to their families I figured that bashing them to death against their ancestors' headstones would be appropriate.'

Margarita took a deep breath. She looked content with herself. Suddenly she turned serious and leaned towards Tom. 'Now wait, that's not quite true. First I killed that poor boy that was James Melts' lover. But honestly, it was an accident! I had found out who he was through gossip, church meetings are a gold mine for that, and set up a meeting to in some way trick him to get his car and his mobile phone.'

With a sad expression she continued: 'It all went terribly wrong. He put up such a fight that I had to hit him… and unfortunately I hit him too hard… Had to take care of it, though.'

'But… How..?' Tom was shocked about what she was telling him. He couldn't get the right words out of his mouth.

'The rest, as they say, is history and you already know all about it,' Margarita smiled again, 'though I have to admit it was fun stealing the knife out of Howard's car and being able to use it. I actually thought it would work to frame him.'

'But your husband, didn't he have any suspicions where you were at all those occasions?' asked Tom.

'Not really,' answered Margarita, 'I've always liked late evening walks, which he doesn't. And after I had arranged for us to find Caitlin and Alexander I had no problems at all getting sleeping pills into him whenever I needed… time on my own, if you see what I mean?' Yet another smile shone over her face. 'I also tried to add a little to my double bluff by telling gossip about Alexander and Caitlin. I even mentioned it to Joyce, but I had no idea then that she was your wife. I just thought she'd spread it around and that together with me finding the bodies and reporting them to the police, would make me a most unlikely suspect.'

'And still you signed your statement with Margarita B Errol?' asked Tom, finding it hard to put her different actions together with any logical thinking behind.

'Oh, that,' Margarita looked surprised, 'so that's where you got me? Well, I am a Bendale, am I not?' She looked at Barnaby with a firm gaze. 'And I really didn't think anyone would notice. I began using the B the moment I understood my true origin! But a B really can mean any name... like Burton or Benson...'

Again Tom realised that logical thinking and Margarita's actions were only partially connected. Most of the time she was a rational woman and a cunning killer, but then the obvious stroke of insanity took over. Though it still appeared perfectly logical to Margarita's own twisted mind.

The door opened and Scott entered the room. He sat down at the table and exchanged a serious glance with his superior. Silently he asked for permission to speak. Barnaby nodded.

Scott leaned over the table and spoke: 'Mrs Errol, could you repeat the date your son was born?'

'January 17, 1975.' Margarita looked puzzled.

'And he was born in Foddington and adopted in Foddington?'

'I could never get anything out of the nuns, but I always assumed he was adopted locally. It is in Foddington that I started my search for him. So far unsuccessful, I'm afraid…' Now Margarita began to look really worried.

'Mrs Errol, I don't really know how to put this…' Scott paused, 'but Toby Gillen was born on January 17 in 1975. He was adopted by a family closely connected to the church. We'll of course run some DNA-tests…'

The rest of his sentence was drowned by Margarita Errol's primal scream as she fell forward over the table. They all knew that the tests would only confirm…

* * *

Both Barnaby and Scott left the station with a sense of unease. Another case solved, but with no winners, only losers

Barnaby comforted himself with the thought of holding Joyce in his arms, telling her how much he loved her.

Scott looked forward to cuddling up with Shannon and feeling her soft warm body and to where it might lead…

_**To be continued tomorrow…**_


	8. Part 8 Friday again

**Epilogue**

**Friday (again)**

'But darling, why didn't you tell me before?' Jane Melts smiled at her son.

'I thought you and dad would go "bananas" if I couldn't produce a daughter.' James looked with great suspicion at his mother's smiling face.

'Shoosh, shoosh,' Jane Melts hugged her son, 'I've always suspected. There were never any girls around you. Well, nowadays this isn't a problem!' She smiled happily.

'What do you mean, mum?' James was all confused.

'You are gay.' His mother looked at him. 'That doesn't mean you're not… functioning. Milla will be delighted to marry you and carry your baby.'

James looked terrified.

'We'll sort it out artificially of course. Don't look so worried.' Jane almost giggled when she continued: 'And I'm sure you won't mind if Milla amuses herself a little with one of the farmhands. You might even want one for yourself…'

Jane still laughed happily when she left the room: 'Milla..? La-da-di-da-da… Milla..?'

She left James sitting in his chair, swallowing hard.

* * *

PS Sandra Collins came to work as usual at 8 pm, just to find a huge bouquet of lovely flowers on her desk. For a split second she thought they might be from Dan, before she realised he would never send her flowers at the station.

She found the card: "Dear Sandra, eternally grateful. Tom and Joyce"

Oh, that old teddy bear, Sandra thought, he could appear to be so harsh, but he fooled no-one. They all knew he had a heart of gold.

Desk Sergeant Angel called through to CID: 'There's a young lady here to see you, sir.'

Barnaby and Scott were finishing up the work of yesterday's dramatic events.

'Who is it?' Tom asked back, 'I'm rather busy.'

'She says her name is Lita Iommi.'

'Send her in!' came the prompt reply.

A very pretty young lady walked in. She didn't look at all like a backpacker.

'G'day, I hear you've been out looking for me,' she said with an unmistakable New Zealand accent.

'We certainly have, Ms Iommi,' answered Barnaby, 'but as things have turned out, we no longer need to talk to you.

'Right, well then…' The girl turned to walk away again.

'Could we offer you a lift somewhere, Ms Iommi?'

'Naah, my auntie is waiting out in the car.'

'Your aunt? Wouldn't that be..?'

'Yeah, it's Rihanna alright.' Lita Iommi smiled. 'Spent the night there and now it seems I'll spend some more time there…'

'So..?' Barnaby raised a questioning eyebrow.

'Yeah, Rihanna thinks it'd be a good idea if I help Rick to get over his misery and I mean… one look at his body and I'm all for it…' She gave Barnaby a dazzling smile and a gaze which told him Rick had something to look forward to.

'Yes, it wouldn't surprise me if Mrs Ashmoore did think it was a good idea,' Tom mumbled to himself.

'Scuse me, couldn't quite catch ya?'

'It was nothing,' said Tom with a smile, 'off you go and have a good time at Ashmoore Hall… with Rick…'

'Yeah,' it seemed to be Lita's favourite word, 'Rihanna says it's kind of all sorted, with Rick I mean, so guess I'll just give him the best I can… And I'm good!'

'And so we've heard,' said Scott as she left the CID, when both he and Barnaby shook their heads simultaneously.

* * *

'How nice of you to take us out to dinner, Mrs Barnaby,' Shannon said as the waiter came and filled their wine glasses.

'It's the very least we can do after Dan's heroic efforts yesterday… and please, do call me Joyce.'

'Alright, thank you, Joyce,' Shannon said with a smile so beautiful that Joyce felt happy Cully wasn't with them. Cully had a soft spot for Dan, that had never turned into something romantic, but Joyce knew her daughter could be both jealous and protective of what she thought was "hers".

'Yes, this is really nice, sir,' added Dan.

'Tonight it's Tom… but don't you try to use it back at the station on Monday,' said Tom with a grin towards Dan.

'Promise not to, sir…I mean Tom.'

'I really want to thank you for what you did yesterday, Dan.' Tom became serious at the memory of it. 'God knows what would have happened if you hadn't reacted so fast?' He shuddered at the thought.

'I hate to say it, si… Tom, but I was only lucky, and I sure am happy I was…' Dan left his sentence hanging in the air and looked thoughtful as he considered the alternative.

'Enough about that! Tonight we celebrate everything we have to be happy about and thankful for and by the look of things you seem to have lot of it right now…' Tom nodded towards Shannon.

'Yes, I really have,' said Dan and looked at Shannon with his gaze full of love.

'I take it this may stop you from applying for a transfer, wouldn't it? I mean Shannon is a local girl, isn't she? Tom looked hopefully at Dan. 'I must say that even if we didn't get on very well to begin with, I think you're an excellent policeman and… I just don't have the energy to train a new one. Not yet anyway.'

'Actually Tom, I haven't made any applications for a transfer for the last few months. I've come to like it here in Midsomer. Shannon and I have talked about it too and we both agree that the only thing that could change our mind would be if the Met called and offered me a position as Inspector.'

'You wouldn't dare!' said Tom with a wry smile, half serious, half joking.

'Well,' said Dan, 'with the respect I have for you, sir…Tom, I guess that if it happens… I'll just have to call in sick…' He smiled back at Tom.

'Tom! Tom!' Joyce was all of a sudden excited. 'We have to order champagne!'

'What? Why?' Tom was caught by surprise at his wife's sudden excitement, but had the time to think about the hole it was going to dig in his wallet.

'Don't you see?'

'No, sorry Joyce, what do you mean?'

Joyce shook her head. 'Men!' she burst out with the experience of a long life together with one of the species. She took Shannon's hand in hers and held it towards Tom. 'Now do you see?'

'Not quite…' Tom was beginning to feel a bit embarrassed, not knowing what he was missing.

'It's an engagement ring, Tom. Dan and Shannon are engaged!'

'Well, in that case,' Tom looked at both Dan and Shannon, 'Congratulations to you both, you couldn't have done better. Waiter! Waiter! Could we have a bottle of champagne over here..?'

_**The End.**_


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